


Trust Me (I'm a Lying Liar Who Lies)

by elisi



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: All my fic becomes character studies, F/M, Gen, Martha meets Eleven, Mickey meets Eleven, River is a BAMF, Rule One: The Doctor Lies, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 17:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi
Summary: In which River is enigmatic, Martha is frustrated, Mickey is intrigued and the Doctor... is a Pond.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: 
> 
> For the Doctor: Post-'The Wedding of River Song', but before 'The Doctor, The Widow and the Wardrobe'. But he pretends that it's towards the end of S6. (Sorry to be confusing. Basically he's 'dead' and doesn't want the universe to know he's still alive.)
> 
> For Martha and Mickey: Sometime post-Children of Earth 
> 
> For River: *smirk*

_Spring 2011_

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Mickey, I’m sure. It’s got that... _oddness_. Any second UNIT are going to get wind of it and come wading in, and although I have every respect for them, I know what their procedures are like. The Doctor will _know_ what’s going on, because this sort of thing is what he _does_.”

“It’s just...” he had that face where he was trying to be gentle with her. She loved that face, even though it often made things more awkward.

“Martha, the last time we saw him...”

“I know,” she said flatly, trying to suppress the memory. “He’s a Time Lord, I’m sure... I’m sure he was fine.”

Mickey didn’t look convinced, but before he could voice any more objections Martha pressed her lips together and pulled out her phone. She’d call him and he would be _fine_. He _had_ to be. After Jack... She couldn’t lose _both_ her dashing, immortal heroes one right after the other. Surely there were intergalactic laws against that.

It took a good while before there was an answer, however. The bright spring sunlight seemed to mock her as she leaned against the SUV, letting her eyes drift across the landscape which was still hovering between the barrenness of winter and the exuberance of spring. 

Maybe it was all a wild goose chase after all? She wasn’t even sure what to do if she didn’t get through to the Doctor. They were nearly three hours’ drive from home, in the middle of nowhere, and she could already vividly imagine Mickey’s ‘Well, at least we had a nice Sunday in the countryside...'

And then - _finally_ \- someone answered.

“Martha?” asked a happy, but muffled, voice, nearly drowned out against explosions.

“Doctor?” she asked, wincing as another blast came through. “ _Doctor_? Are you OK?”

“Never better!” he replied, his voice sounding oddly unlike him, but it was hard to tell with all the noise. “Do you need me?”

“Um, yes, there is... it doesn’t sound like much, sorry, but there’s this archaeological find which is...”

“Hang on-” he said, but whatever he said next was drowned out by an almighty boom - and the phone went dead. 

“Doctor? _Doctor?_ ” she cried, looking at Mickey, heart beating, and he instinctively grasped her hand.

“Martha? What is it?”

“I... I don’t know... There were explosions and I could barely hear him and then the connection cut out.”

She held his eyes, and oh, he would be perfectly justified in saying ‘What did I say?’ However, he was her Mickey, and he smiled his best encouraging smile.

“Look, just give it a minute, I’m sure he’ll call back, or-”

He stopped, and they looked at each other as an unmistakable grinding noise filled the air.

Turning they saw the TARDIS materialise a little down the narrow road, and Mickey grinned.

“See? Your daft faith in him obviously worked.”

“Shut up,” she smiled, before they half-ran down the road towards the most incredible blue box in the world, and she knew that Mickey was no less excited than she was herself.

But as they got closer the door opened and a curly-haired woman stepped out. She was sensibly dressed in tall, black boots, moss green jodhpurs and a bright white shirt, over which she wore a fur-lined brown jacket, and she had a gun strapped to her leg. Looking at them she smiled, holding out her hand.

“Martha, right? And Mickey. It’s a pleasure to meet you - I’m Doctor River Song. But just call me River.”

Martha automatically shook her hand, followed by Mickey, but couldn’t meet River’s smile.

“Where’s the Doctor?”

River clasped her hands together, an odd look flitting across her face - the sort of look that made Martha instinctively wary.

“Well we... had a bit of a disagreement, so I came alone. Archaeology is my area of expertise, you see, and he was being rude... _Again_.”

She did a perfect impression of a long suffering wife, and Martha could feel herself silently bristling with equal parts disbelief and unease. 

‘I came alone’... Alone. _Alone_? No one could fly the TARDIS except the Doctor (and a certain other person who was now thankfully dead). 

Taking a deep breath Martha fixed River with a determined glare.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but... who are you? I know you told us your name, but...”

She left the sentence hanging, not quite knowing how to politely ask: ‘How do we know that you didn’t just steal the TARDIS and lock the Doctor up, or... worse?’

River raised an eyebrow, face inscrutable.

“Oh you are _good_ \- I can see why he picked you. Although...”

Something stole into her eyes; something which gave Martha the strangest sense of deja vu. It was a nameless disquiet of foreboding, and she could feel herself tense up. 

River continued, voice still perfectly level, but now holding an unmistakable hint of warning.

“Have you considered that if I had indeed killed the Doctor and stolen his TARDIS, you _really_ wouldn’t want to get on my wrong side?”

For a moment they all looked at each other in uneasy, disbelieving silence, and then River burst out laughing.

“Oh the _looks_ on your faces! I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but since you’re so curious - I’m his wife!”

Another pause as they stared at her dumbfounded. Mickey found his voice first.

“Wait - hold on. What do you mean... _wife_?”

River’s face was pure amusement.

“Well... the normal meaning. The to have and to hold kind... I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept, Mr and Mrs Smith-Jones?”

Martha shook her head.

“But- but he doesn’t. I mean-”

Mr Reticent, that was the Doctor. She knew from Mickey that even the precious Rose had only been kissed in order to save her life... But Mickey was studying River speculatively, and then looked at Martha.

“You didn’t see him with Madame du Pompadour,” he said carefully. “Not to mention the way he talked about ‘Cleo’...”

“Oh _Cleo_ ,” River said, voice practically a purr, and Mickey slowly turned his head towards her.

“Actually, he sounded pretty much exactly like that.”

“You know, the stories are absolutely true,” River smiled. “It’s the nose that gets you.”

“You mean, he took you to see her?” Martha asked, feeling completely out of her depth at the direction the conversation was taking, and River shook her head, curls dancing.

“Oh no, the Doctor was... _indisposed_ at the time. And I needed a favour. She was _very_ forthcoming by the way...” 

Jack Harkness himself couldn’t have crammed more innuendo into the words, nor could he have smiled a smile more devious. Martha began to feel as if she was standing on quicksand.

“Look, can we just-”

River chuckled, clearly revelling in the confusion she was causing.

“Well why don’t we talk as we walk? I’m guessing the site isn’t far?”

“We’ve got a car,” Mickey said. “It’s only a few minutes' drive.”

“Brilliant. You can tell me all about the dig - let’s prove to him that interesting things _can_ happen on a Sunday, shall we?”

Mickey grinned in response, and Martha tried to relax. Mickey was very good at sounding out people, and if he felt that River was trustworthy... Well, Martha would just have to mentally shove River into the same box she kept for anything regarding Rose Tyler.

Martha drove (which required a fair bit of concentration as the dirt track was full of large holes), so Mickey explained about the newly discovered burial mound which had no alien signs to it at all, but nonetheless seemed very _other_. The archaeologists interviewed on the local news (a clip of which Martha had accidentally stumbled across on youtube) had been very excited, thinking that it might be something to do with ‘the missing link’ since it was very old, and didn’t fit anything else previously found. They were still uncovering new things, and were just biding their time before going national - they were sure this could be the discovery of the century.

River’s eyes narrowed, muttering “I wonder...”, before catching herself. 

Martha noticed, but kept quiet since she didn’t know what to do or how to frame all the questions in her mind. Why would the Doctor get married? Well, he’d been very caught up in nurse Redfern, but that had been a unique situation... Why had he never said? And what had been the deal the last time they’d seen him? There were too many unknowns, and she had a suspicion that River - whoever she was - would answer precisely none.

As they got out, having parked near some sturdy-looking shelters the archaeologists obviously used for eating and sleeping, Mickey turned to Martha and murmured: “Well you were right about one thing - he does prefer blondes.”

Martha hissed and slapped him on the arm (she wasn’t _jealous_!), but River looked over her shoulder, smirking.

“Redheads, actually. Which is where all the problems with Lizzie came in. Went to see her once and nearly got beheaded.”

“Hold on-” Martha exclaimed, as an old memory reasserted itself. “Do you mean Queen Elizabeth the First?”

River nodded. “No idea what he got up to, but presumably he was making eyes at her and then skedaddled. As usual.”

“Well... that _does_ explain a lot,” Martha said slowly. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe River, and all her explanations seemed perfectly rational and straightforward. Yet - why would the Doctor decide to strike up some kind of dalliance with Elizabeth the First? And where _was_ he? This woman with the curls and the smug confidence was in some ways entirely like the Doctor, and yet... She carried a _gun_ , and she’d given no explanation for why - or _how_ \- she had been flying the TARDIS. (Apart from that one horrible suggestion which Martha had silently labelled 'Worst joke ever'.) Still - somewhere something didn’t add up, she just couldn't work out what... But what could she do?

The site was quiet, and as they made their way between the shelters and into a large space circled by trees, only a single person emerged from the mound at the other side, waving.

“Hello!” he shouted, and River walked up to him with a wide smile.

“Hello, Doctor River Song. I was sent along by Professor Pond to have a look around? I wouldn’t claim to be an expert, but I find this particular area absolutely fascinating...”

She briefly waved a psychic paper in the man’s face, and then launched into a discussion so full of jargon and long words that Martha had to admit that whatever she might suspect, River was most certainly a genuine archaeologist.

Her colleague turned out to be Doctor Roberts, a rather raggedy-looking figure of indeterminable age with unkempt hair. He was dressed in an old tweed jacket thrown over a stripy jumper that had clearly seen better days, the look topped off with corduroy trousers and sturdy builder's boots. He barely glanced at Martha and Mickey as River introduced them as students tagging along for the experience, being far too excited about showing ‘Doctor Song’ the mound. He was of course presuming she was aware that he was only doing this as a courtesy? Everyone else had decided to go to the pub for a Sunday roast, where they would probably tell everyone and their mother about their theories. Although if he was quite honest he thought they all had the wrong end of the stick. In his _personal_ opinion... 

With River’s prompting he launched into a convoluted explanation of his own hypothesis, which River listened to with rapt attention, as Martha and Mickey shot each other looks. Martians, of course. Like the pyramids... Martha quelled a strong urge to punch him, although she was quietly pleased - UNIT would definitely have been all over this within days.

As they eventually entered the mound itself River withdrew a small torch which had been attached to her belt and let out a low whistle.

“Oh I _knew_ it...”

“What do you mean?” the other archaeologist asked, and River turned to him, biting her lip.

“Could I ask a favour? I would love it if you could type up your theory - you’re clearly onto something.” She smiled and seemed to flutter her eyelashes, although maybe that was just a trick of the torch light. “I’ll be fine just having a little snoop around myself....”

“Of course,” Doctor Roberts said eagerly, “not a problem. If you need me, just holler - there’s only me around.”

“Will do,” River smouldered, and then watched him walk away, turning to Martha and Mickey as he disappeared outside, face a mixture of exasperation and excitement.

“Thought he’d never leave. You were absolutely right - this isn’t human. But-” Her eyes sparkled. “It isn’t alien either.”

Mickey looked confused, and wasn’t afraid to put voice to his thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“ _This_ ,” River waved her hand around, “is a Silurian burial place! I had no idea that they _existed_. This could earn me a professorship one day you know...”

“And what’s a Silurian?” Mickey asked, and River - busy scanning the walls with a flat rectangular device - answered rather inattentively.

“Homo Reptilia - they inhabited the planet 200 million years ago, but went to sleep... Hold on.”

Next moment the device had evidently turned into a phone of some description.

“Hello Sweetie. You’ll never believe this! It’s a _Silurian_ burial place-”

A shadow fell across the opening, accompanied by a strange sort of clicking noise, and - seemingly without moving - River had drawn her gun and was now aiming it at the creature blocking the exit. Which was pointing a weapon of its own right back at them. It looked a bit like a deformed fish, with thick scales covering its face and ridges along the top.

“I’ll call you back,” River said and slowly lowered her communicator, and Martha felt that being right was maybe not the best thing ever.

“You are disturbing the sleep of my ancestors,” the creature (a Silurian it would seem) said coldly, and River inclined her head a fraction.

“I’m sorry. I’m an archaeologist. I meant no disrespect.”

“You bring Time Lord technology and soldiers. I know your kind.”

River’s eyes narrowed.

“You are an enemy of the Doctor?”

“The Doctor spoke sweet words, but he tricked us. My kin were murdered and I have lived these past 40 years in lonely bitterness. And now _you_ come and disturb even those gone for aeons. Yes, the Doctor is my enemy, the man I curse every waking second.”

River’s face hardened, her smile turning chilly and dangerous.

“I’m the woman who killed him. Let’s talk.”

As the devastating words sank in, Martha realised that even though River was still focussed on the Silurian, her gun was now pointing straight at her and Mickey.

“Don’t even think about it kids, I can shoot faster than you can think.”

Then she slowly turned her head and looked at them, face unreadable.

“No offense.”


	2. Chapter 2

Suddenly everything was happening much too fast. Before Martha could even begin to process what was happening, they were back outside and River was handcuffing her and Mickey to each other around a tree... Handcuffs, apparently, being something else River just happened to have stashed away in a pocket somewhere. 

As River stepped back, having carefully checked that they were secure, Martha finally managed to find her voice.

"Wait!"

"Yes?"

River looked at her, perfectly pleasant, and Martha had to quell a sudden urge to yell. _‘Stop pretending to be nice!’_ was on the tip of her tongue, but instead - casting a cautious look at the Silurian which was hovering in the background - Martha beckoned River closer with her head, and then whispered as quietly as she could.

"Just... This is a ruse, right, to get him on board? You didn't actually-"

River looked back at her as if Martha was a sweet, but rather naive, 4 year old.

"I would have to be pretty stupid to claim to be the most infamous murderer in the universe, if I wasn't."

Eyes narrowing, the 'niceness' vanished as if never there, as she continued: 

"And _trust_ me - I may be many things, but stupid isn't one of them.”

_‘He’s really dead then’_ Martha thought dully, her last shred of logical hope having been eliminated far too efficiently. The world seemed to have gone cold and grey, and she almost missed River’s next words.

“Now, I was going to ask you a favour."

Shocked out of her mounting grief, she stared at River wordlessly. The Doctor was actually _dead_ , and this horrible woman - who had lied to them through her teeth - was the one who had killed him... And she was asking them for a _favour_?

"You see, I know who you are," River began, studying them carefully. "You've saved the world. You are brave and intrepid and smart. But _please_ \- just stay put. Don't try to escape, and _especially_ don't try to call the Doctor."

Martha was utterly lost for words, but thankfully Mickey was more than capable of answering for both of them.

"Well he'd be a bit hard to get hold of since you've _killed_ him, won't he?" he sneered.

Closing her eyes River pinched the bridge of her nose, as if fighting a headache, before looking at them in turn.

"I can't believe I have to explain this, you _must_ know it... Time is not a strict progression of cause to effect. From a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of..." she smiled, as Martha almost stopped breathing, "...wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff. Which means that it's entirely possible for you to call him right now, and for him to come rushing in the way he always does so he can ‘save the day’. I'm asking you _not_ to, because I am trying very hard to stop this from turning into a bloodbath. I'm sure you know him well enough to be aware that more times than not he leaves a trail of bodies in his wake..." 

Another smile, but this one was pure bitterness. "What do you call it in this century? Collateral damage, that’s it. I’m doing my best to minimise the collateral damage, and I am asking you to help me. OK?”

Without waiting for an answer she turned round and walked back to the Silurian. Martha looked at Mickey, and saw that he had gone very quiet.

"Mickey - tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking!"

"Look... Whoever she is, she has a point."

Martha gritted her teeth, and tried not to think too deeply about 'Collateral damage'. River had it all back-to-front, and now she was making them argue with each other... 

"I'm not saying she doesn't, but she is obviously manipulating us!"

"Of course she is, but Martha... what could the Doctor do if he came here? That Silurian thing would want revenge for what happened to the rest of them 40 years ago. You know, I think I remember reading about that - UNIT were involved and it all got really messy. Let's just see how River handles things, yeah? I'm sure-"

He was interrupted by a sudden flash, in which appeared a floppy-haired young man. His clothing, bizarrely, reminded Martha of the choir master off the telly whom her mother liked so much (...something Malone. Gareth?), all tweed and bow tie, and even his age seemed to be about the same.

The young man blinked, as if his sudden appearance was as much of a surprise to himself as to everyone else, and then after some befuddled looking around noticed River and the Silurian, and immediately made a beeline for them.

"Doctor Song! There you are. Got your message. You should have mentioned that you had a Silurian at the dig, I would have brought Doctor Malohkeh, you know how he loves to meet distant cousins! Sorry, I've not introduced myself, have I?"

Reaching out, he shook the stunned-looking Silurian's hand.

"Professor Pond, Luna University. Pleasure to meet you!"


	3. Chapter 3

It was a small consolation, but River looked as shocked as Martha felt at the sudden arrival, although she curbed her alarm with great speed and smiled stiffly.

"Professor. How kind of you to join us."

But despite her outward calm her eyes were pure fury, and Martha half-expected the newcomer to wilt under her gaze.

The Silurian, however, did not hesitate to voice its concerns, looking like it was moments away from drawing its gun again.

"This-" it pointed to the vortex manipulator strapped to the Professor’s arm, "-is not current Earth technology."

Professor Pond laughed.

"Oh goodness me no! We're in..." he thought for a moment and then looked at River for confirmation, "the... 21st Century now? I have come from the _Fifty_ -first.”

Holding the wrist strap up he turned his arm this way and that as if he’d never really seen it before.

“The clever tech people rigged me up with this - marvellous isn't it? Not _entirely_ sure how it works, and I had to _promise_ not to touch any of the buttons - technology isn't really my thing, and I am a little bit clumsy, I'm afraid. It’s rather an... _unconventional_ way of travelling, truth be told, and I can't say I much care for it, but I really did want to come straight away... How could I pass up a find like this?"

He spread his arms out, face lit up with pure eagerness, but the Silurian didn't seem any happier. Smiling apologetically, River carefully turned to it.

"Please forgive my colleague, he has a tendency to... get a little overexcited. If you'd come this way, we could have a little talk in private maybe, and I'll explain?"

The Silurian reluctantly inclined its head, and the two stepped a short distance away, River shooting the Professor a parting glare which - as far as Martha could make out - came across mostly as ‘Please drop dead’. 

Even though everything was suddenly rather precarious, and Martha had a feeling that the Silurian was actively looking for an excuse for kill them all, she couldn’t help but feel rather cheered. Anyone who rattled River this badly was to be welcomed as far as she was concerned...

The 'Professor' was now slowly turning, taking in the surroundings, and Martha - throwing caution to the wind - grasped her chance.

" _Doctor?"_ she whispered, as loudly as she dared, and his eyes fastened on her with mild interest as he smiled politely.

"No, not Doctor - _Professor_ ," he said corrected punctiliously, "Professor _Pond_. Has a lovely ring to it, doesn't it? Professor Pond." 

He seemed to taste the name, as if it was some sort of delicious toffee, and then explained: "It's quite new you see - still getting used to it."

"Well... you look a bit young to be a Professor," Mickey remarked drily, as Martha was trying to work out what was going on, and Professor Pond shook his head.

"Oh I've been a Professor for... Oh a good while now. It's the Pond bit that's new. I got married you see."

Mickey, forgetting that he was tied up and speaking to a weird bow-tied 'professor' from the future, frowned.

"You mean you took your wife's name?"

Professor Pond studied him with a matching frown, and when he spoke it was hard not to get the impression that he clearly thought Mickey somewhat sub-par in intelligence or understanding.

"That _is_ how it works," he said, and then seemed to look at them properly for the first time, tilting his head, puzzled.

"Doctor Song?" he asked, half-turning, "why are these people tied up?"

River turned, sighed, apologised to the Silurian, and walked up to him.

"They're former Companions of the Doctor, and were actually the ones who led me here. They're tied up to stop them from causing trouble - apparently the Doctor was involved in some incident here 40 years ago."

Professor Pond stroked his chin, making a very good impression of a young man imitating a pensioner.

"The Doctor... Ah yes, that fellow you wrote your thesis on. You know, I'm still not sure about writing your archaeology thesis on a time traveller... highly unorthodox."

A gust of wind blew a handful of curls into River's eyes, and she brushed them away irritably. When she replied her voice was deceptively calm, but the exasperation in her eyes was unmistakable.

"If you have any issues with my academic work, I would suggest you go through the proper channels, _Professor_."

Clasping his hands together, Professor Pond looked somewhat chastised.

"No, no, not issues as _such_... But there are some of your sources which always struck me as rather spurious... Not to mention the footnotes. I recall one on page 43..."

He kept talking, fastidious and fussy, and Martha with a deep sigh tried to quell her sharp disappointment. Nothing more than a dull bore of an archaeologist, and about as much use as a chocolate fireguard. For a moment there she'd thought... God, she was a fool.

Looking up, she saw that River had obviously also had enough of the Professor's prattle, and was sending him off with the Silurian to have a look at the tomb, reminding him - rather sharply - that he wasn't to touch anything. This was not their dig - _yet_ \- so they weren't insured, and she was sure he remembered how things had turned out on Callisto?

He nodded, looking rather like a small boy who'd been scolded by his mother in public, and then followed the Silurian, admonishments forgotten instantly as he began quizzing it on its past. River dragged a hand across her face, muttering "Mama said there'd be days like this...", and Martha felt her anger growing. Damn straight this horrible woman should be having a difficult day.

When River looked up again, Martha caught her eyes and asked, as pointedly as she could: "You wrote your thesis on _the Doctor?"_

But River didn't so much as blink. Instead she held Martha's eyes and said, voice perfectly level and without emphasis: "Know your enemy."

And Martha - for the first time - felt genuinely afraid.


	4. Chapter 4

River vanished into the burial mound again, and Martha knew she ought to begin thinking about some sort of strategy, except she felt paralysed. Slowly she became aware of her husband's attempts at getting her attention.

"Martha! _Martha!_ What's the matter? Seriously, _talk_ to me!"

She shifted, trying to adjust the handcuffs - which only made Mickey grunt in discomfort - and then took a deep breath, catching his eyes.

"You know I told you about walking around the world? And how I went to see this woman - Professor Docherty - when I came back to England?"

"Yes..." he said, unsure where she was going, and she bit her lip.

"That whole meeting was all subterfuge - the resistance knew that the Master had taken her son hostage, and we were counting on her betraying me, so I could get up to the Valiant..." 

She was rambling, but she couldn’t help it. She felt too shaken to even attempt coherence. "I told her. I mean, we were talking about the Toclafane, but I _told_ her: 'Know your enemy', meaning her although she didn't know it and, and River... the way she said it, it was an _exact_ imitation. Everything - tone, look, _everything_... But how could she know? Mickey - _how could she know?"_

He slowly shook his head, and when he spoke his voice was very careful and deliberate and crammed as full of 'Calm down, dearest' as he could muster. 

"It was _a co-incidence_ , OK? Martha, you said it yourself: She _couldn't_ know. Co-incidences happen. It’s a pretty standard phrase..."

Turning her head to look at the mound, Martha tried not to shudder.

"I know. But something about that woman is just... Something’s off, something’s _wrong_ , I _know_ it. We can't trust her." 

Her voice trailed off, frustrated, as she knew that Mickey wouldn’t understand. Well, he would be very supportive, but he didn't _know_. It was impossible, and yet... It had felt like a veiled threat - an unmistakable, coded warning, just for her - and what was worse, it had worked. With three words River had made the past swallow her up again: the fear, the uncertainty, the way everyone had looked to _her_ to save them, the helplessness...

She had been so _alone_. And this time the Doctor wasn’t ever going to come...

(Stop. Breathe. She was Martha Jones. She had walked the Earth and seen the end of the universe and she had laughed in the Master’s face. And... she wasn’t alone anymore.)

Once more back in control she looked at her husband, shoving all her worries away until later and focussing squarely on the present.

"Fine. How do we get out of these handcuffs then?"

"I don't think we can," Mickey said slowly. "And, like I was saying before, River seems to be helping this Silurian thing-"

He stopped as the look on her face must have conveyed her feelings pretty clearly. But then - Martha breathed a sigh of relief - Doctor Roberts reappeared from the archeologists’ camp.

He walked up, calling out: "Doctor Song? I was wondering-" and then stopped dead in his tracks as he took in Martha and Mickey's predicament, staring at them with undiluted astonishment.

"Hold on a minute, what's going on?" he exclaimed, and Martha leaned forward and whispered, as loudly as she dared.

"Just- help us out of these, and I'll explain!"

Of course it wasn't that simple, since the man couldn't just run off and fetch some kind of implement capable of breaking handcuffs - he had to shake his head and demand explanations, and Martha had the very familiar feeling (which she remembered seeing on the Doctor's face many a time) of desperately wishing that sometimes people would just _do as they were told_ , and let her explain _later_.

She was halfway through swiftly whispered highlights before she realised that River was now standing behind Doctor Roberts.

Martha abruptly closed her mouth, and the man whirled around to see what she was looking at, as River slowly closed the lipstick she had been applying, before returning it - and a small compact mirror - to one of the pockets on her belt.

"Don't mind me," she said lightly, "you're clearly busy."

"D-Doctor Song," the archeologist stammered, and she suddenly smiled, eyes dancing.

"Doctor _Roberts_ ," she countered, stepping forwards and gently taking hold of the lapels of his jacket, "trust me, this won't hurt a bit!"

And then, without any kind of warning, she kissed him.

As she pulled away, he stared at her with a dazed kind of look, which Martha couldn't blame him for. River studied him levelly.

"OK, here's what's going on: Just as you suspected, your dig is actually alien. And in a little while the aliens - they're green and from Mars - are going to come and take it back home. Understood?"

A slow smile spread across Roberts’ face.

"I knew it!"

Martha could feel her anger return ten-fold, because she could tell that this wasn’t natural - the way his eyes had glazed over and the sudden acquiescence were more than enough proof for her trained eye.

"What did you _do_ to him?" she asked, and River smiled, utterly unconcerned.

"Hallucinogenic lipstick," she said; and then added, with a wink: "Would you like to try it?"

Martha just glared daggers, but Mickey cleared his throat.

"Look, are you going to explain what's happening? I mean - I'd like to know that you're actually doing, since we only have your word that you’re trying to sort stuff out, yeah? So what’s this about Martians?"

River studied him with an appreciative look, as she pulled out her communicator, and then - finger hovering over the display - shrugged and looked at Mickey with a smile. 

"Well, we had a bit of a talk, and I've managed to hire some contractors to move the dig to the moon - a simple procedure using an H2O scoop, as I'm sure Martha is aware - and it can sit there in peace and quiet until I have the time to take closer look. And, of course, our Silurian friend can come along to keep watch over his ancestors. Shouldn't be long now. Speed is rather of the essence after all..."

She turned as Professor Pond reappeared, her easy smile becoming somewhat stifled, although he seemed somewhat subdued now, momentarily looking over his shoulder at the Silurian with something like worry in his eyes.

"Professor,” River began briskly, “I was wondering - would you mind looking after our colleague here? I'm not sure how he'll deal with..." She waved a hand vaguely - presumably to indicate 'Martians' or whatever the contractors were - and the Professor's demeanor immediately turned petulant.

"I don't see why-" he started, as the archeologist suddenly threw a hand over his mouth.

"A Martian! And he's all green!"

Professor Pond rolled his eyes, looking at River with open annoyance.

"You know, that lipstick is a clear breach of the rules of conduct-"

"And so is stealing an entire dig!" River cut in. "Do you want to leave the burial mound _here?_ With _him?"_

Before the Professor could answer, she continued: "This way, he'll talk about little green men, the UNIT people will come galloping along, scan for unknown technology, decide this it _was_ all aliens and do the cleanup operation for us!"

She smirked, and patted his shoulder.

"No need to say it - I know I'm brilliant."

" _I_ think you're horrible!" Martha said, and River sighed.

"And _don't_ talk to the hostages!"

The Professor opened his mouth, and River held up a warning hand.

“Unless you want to be cuffed too? I didn’t ask for you to come, and quite frankly having you here, breathing down my neck, is _not helping!_ ”

For a moment they glowered at each other, the tension so heavy that Martha was sure she could have reached out and touched it if she hadn’t been all tied up, but then the Professor angrily turned and sat down on a nearby rock, crossing his arms, defiantly silent.

With one last look of warning, River turned on her heel, her communicator clamped to her ear, as she walked back to the Silurian which was looming threateningly by the burial mound.

Doctor Roberts gingerly seated himself next to the Professor on the large rock, continually staring at him.

"I've never met an alien before," Roberts said slowly. "What's it like being green? Is Mars nice?"

Professor Pond sighed deeply, and rubbed his face. It was possible he muttered something about 'bloody, impossible women' but Martha couldn't quite make it out. Looking up again, he studied Roberts tiredly.

"Mars is lovely - especially this time of year. And being green is marvellous - although the kids tend to get lost when we go on a picnic in the woods."

Doctor Roberts nodded solemnly, and Martha frowned, ignoring the tell-tale flash of someone appearing by teleportation.

"Is he going to be OK?" she asked, and Professor Pond quickly looked over to where Doctor Song was now talking to what Martha presumed was a contractor - the creature was wearing a bright yellow spacesuit, looking mostly like it'd come from a JCB factory.

Seeing that River was preoccupied with the new arrival, Professor Pond nodded.

"The side effects are minimal. He'll need a good sleep in a little while, but then he'll be right as rain."

More contractors appeared, and Martha wondered if she should grab this opportunity, but as she opened her mouth, Professor Pond shook his head.

"I'm not going to help you. She's far scarier than you."

He indicated River with his head, and Martha sighed in frustration. Mickey however chuckled.

"Bet your wife is a lot nicer, yeah?" he asked, and a bright, happy smile suddenly appeared on the Professor's face, transforming it completely. Martha decided that she couldn't be too angry with someone so clearly smitten.

"Oh my Melody, she's..."

"Is she green too?" Doctor Roberts cut in excitedly, and River turned, frowning.

"No talking!"

Professor Pond glared and clamped his mouth shut, as River began introducing the contractors to the Silurian. After some discussions which they couldn’t quite hear, the Silurian was suited up in a bright yellow spacesuit of its own and vanished. Doctor Roberts, who’d been following events avidly, leaned against Professor Pond, said 'Aliens!' one final time, and promptly began to snore. 

The contractors were still running around looking busy, now and again consulting with River, before the leader shook her hand, and they all zapped back to where-ever they’d come from. Martha - figuring that events were beginning to wrap up - suddenly began to worry about what would happen to her and Mickey. She’d have to make sure to keep Professor Pond around for long enough to ensure their safe passage...

Then her attention was caught by River stepping back as a dark cloud hovered into view, slowly settling over the burial mound, and Martha watched in silent fascination as rain began raining _upwards_ , before the whole mound slowly detached itself from the ground. How did that even _work_? 

She thought that maybe she could ask the Professor about it (before somehow segueing the conversation into 'Please make sure Doctor Song lets us go' - which hopefully shouldn't be hard, considering their very obvious antipathy), but she turned to see him gently laying Doctor Roberts down on the rock before walking up to River, hands behind his back, studying the H20 scoop silently until it vanished.

"Well that didn't go too badly,' he said, and she half-turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

"See how smoothly things go when you let me be in charge?"

"Smoothly?" he echoed, musingly. "I'm not sure that 'smoothly' is the word I'd use about handcuffs and drugs..."

A rather wicked smile formed on her face, the coiled tension clearly having vanished along with the mound.

"True. Normally I'd call that the start of a good night!"

Turning to study her, a look Martha couldn't quite work out crossed his face.

"That reminds me... I seem to recall that we were having rather a good night before you decided to run off to deal with ancient burials..."

"So we were," River replied, voice like molasses and eyes trailing over him in a way which wasn't just unexpected, but borderline indecent. "Where did we get to?"

"Oh just about here..." Professor Pond said, and all of a sudden there was not the faintest hint left of the facetious, awkward academic, as he with one deft move wrapped his arm around River’s waist, pulling her flush against him, and with the other hand cupped her face - before leaning in and kissing her deeply, with the kind of thoroughness that spoke of deep familiarity.

Martha, unsure whether to laugh or cry or swear, simply let her head fall heavily against the tree.


	5. Chapter 5

Of course head-butting the tree did nothing at all, except make Martha’s forehead ache. Throwing caution to the wind (because she was so damn _tired_ of where this day had ended up), she snarked: "So, are you two just going snog all day, or do you think you could make time for getting us out of these handcuffs?"

Slowly breaking apart, Professor Pond chuckled, reaching into his inside jacket pocket.

"She sounds just like your mother!" he said, and River raised a finger. What she said next was completely lost on Martha, however, as the Professor brought out a strange looking implement, which none-the-less made a far too familiar buzzing sound as he casually pointed it towards the tree, and the handcuffs sprang off as if by magic.

Martha stared at Mickey, whose jaw had actually dropped, and then they both turned to the couple in front of them, staring at the tweed-clad stranger...

"Doctor?" she asked - for the second time - trying to make the afternoon’s events fit into any kind of logic, and he threw his arms open wide, beaming.

"The one and only! Martha, my d-"

She didn't let him get any further before slapping him soundly across the face, nearly making him lose his footing.

"You lying _bastard_!" she fumed, and the Doctor at least had the decency to look suitably chastised. Or maybe he was just in pain. Either would do.

"There’s more where that came from, trust me, ‘Professor Pond’! Newly married and all over the moon and daft... You really had a field day, didn't you?"

Seeing the smirk on River's face she turned, her fury in no way diminished. 

"And _you_ \- "

The Doctor said “Martha-”, instinctively stepping forwards and reaching out, before stopping himself and clasping his hands together awkwardly, looking from her to Mickey to River and back again.

“Martha...” he tried again, “...there’s been far less lying than you think...”

Seeing that she was still looking beyond unimpressed, he seemed to come to some decision or other, and cleared his throat, as he with a flourish turned to River.

“Say, why don’t we begin from the beginning? Martha, Mickey - allow me to introduce River Song, aka Melody Pond, my wife and the bane of my existence.”

A hundred questions were at the tip of Martha’s tongue (how and why and when had he gotten married and how come he’d never told them and where had he _been_ and why had River come alone?), but the final part of his sentence struck her too forcibly to ignore.

“Is that literal?” she asked cuttingly, studying them. “She said she killed you. Now either that was a really tasteless lie to stop that Silurian shooting us, or hey - you’re wife’s going to kill you some day! Better watch out!”

And then she suddenly had to swallow against the lump in her throat, the feelings she’d so successfully managed to keep under control earlier coming back in full force, and she couldn’t keep the accusation out of her voice.

“She made us think you were _dead!_ ”

For a long moment he didn’t speak, but she held his eyes, refusing to back down. She remembered this - this need to force him into a corner in order to get a straight answer. And although this new incarnation was about a million miles from the cocksure charmer who’d swept her off her feet, some things apparently never changed...

( _'I lied to you, 'cause I liked it. I could pretend. Just for a bit, I could imagine they were still alive, underneath a burnt orange sky...'_ )

She could _understand_ the lying, could probably even forgive this latest one if he’d just _explain_... Because if River was the sort of person who used lies like this, then why... Well, why _everything_? Every issue she could think of brought up more questions, and it was just wearying. Nothing made sense. 

But then the Doctor closed his eyes, lowering his head in silent defeat, and when he looked up again there was a quiet stillness to him that she had never seen before. 

“This was not the best way for you to find out, but... she didn’t lie. River does - did - is going to - kill me,” he said, so gently and matter-of-fact that at first Martha almost didn’t grasp it. 

As she struggled to even _think_ of a response, Mickey came to her aid.

"And... you thought that this would be a nice foundation for a relationship?" he asked, incredulous, and the Doctor turned to River, shooting her a curious, private little smile, before shrugging lightly.

“I can think of worse reasons,” he countered, which was no answer at all, and it was River who provided the first glimpse of the possible truth behind everything, her face kind, but guarded.

"We didn’t exactly have much of a choice."

Looking from one to the other Martha had to fight not to physically throw her hands in the air.

“Look I... I don’t understand, OK? Nothing that’s happened here makes sense, and- and you two? With the- the kissing and the arguments and... she _kills_ you? _Why?_ How is any of this-”

She faltered, unsure how to even _talk_ about this. 

“You’re going to _die_? How can you just... _stand_ there and expect me to just accept that? And how are _you_ OK with it? How-”

Tears were burning behind her eyes, and then he just said “Martha” - in much the same way her Mum used to back when she was little and something had upset her - before wrapping her up in a big hug, softly stroking her back as she clung to him for what seemed like ages; and he was all wrong, and yet he was just the Doctor...

“Don’t die,” she said as she tried to compose herself, and he reached out and cradled her cheek.

“Oh Martha, no one lives forever.” 

He smiled gently, the cool spring breeze ruffling the floppy fringe which kept getting in his eyes, and she remembered hair which seemed to grow straight up, as well as a recklessness which often bordered on the suicidal... But then he continued, slowly and reflectively:

“And, as I once told Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All, I think it's fair to say that... I've lived my dream, in every way you could imagine. But more than that - more than all the adventures and the stars - I met people like you, my beautiful, brave, magnificent Martha... And that, I think, makes me far luckier than I ever deserved to be.”

She looked at him then, really _looked_ , and marvelled at the transformation, which had nothing to do with the clothing or the face or the hair. The man she had known had been ragged around the edges, brittle and damaged and _hurting_ ; clinging onto her even as he pushed her away - an unfathomable loneliness hiding in those beautiful brown eyes, threatening to drown anyone who looked too deeply. What she saw now was... something resembling peace. She still had hundreds of unanswered questions, but this one thing made large swathes of them unimportant: By whichever miracle, he was _happy_. 

“I also have the best wife in the known universe, although I’m sure Mickey will disagree with that... But-” he winked, “Like I said, she’s far scarier than either of you! Which reminds me-”

Eyes dancing he turned to Mickey, long arms enveloping him in an instant.

"Oh Mickey, look at you!"

After another very thorough hug the Doctor beamed at them both, even as his words had brought Martha’s concerns back to the surface. What exactly was the Doctor - her peace-loving, gun-detesting Doctor - doing with a gun-toting, _dangerous_ woman... Her train of thought was interrupted by another happy exclamation however.

"Married Companions! This is almost becoming a thing!"

Then he suddenly hit himself on the forehead and turned to River.

"They've never seen us before! Now we can't go to the wedding!"

He looked genuinely upset, and Martha frowned as his words brought back an old, nearly forgotten, memory.

"Hold on... you said you were rubbish at weddings."

Scratching his head, the Doctor looked momentarily stumped.

"I did? Really? Blimey, I sometimes forget how long ago everything is... Well I'm not much good at my own, but otherwise... Weddings are the best!"

He smiled again, that bright infectious grin that obviously never changed, and River chuckled.

"Oh come on, you only go for the dancing..."

This unaccountably made him wave his hands around and look somewhere between cross and excited.

"You left before The Dance Of The Headcoverings! It was brilliant! I wore 17 hats!"

He proudly looked around at his audience, before suddenly turning pensive.

"Although I think I accidentally became engaged to the chief bridesmaid... You know, the tall blue fellow with the two heads? Very nice chap really, but he was only a few weeks away from hibernation, and I didn’t really fancy seven months in a cave. Which is why I came here in a bit of a rush..."

River raised an eloquent eyebrow, but before she could speak Martha cut in.

"Sorry, what's all this about weddings? When I called you were in some kind of battle."

The Doctor looked puzzled.

"Battle?"

"There were big explosions, I heard them!"

River made a little 'aha' noise, and they turned to her.

"That would have been the fireworks. Oh they were _gorgeous_!"

"Jack does insist on only the best," the Doctor added, and Martha's heart jumped into her throat.

"Jack? You... you went to Jack's wedding?"

The smile she received from River was so unconcerned that for a moment she thought that maybe they were talking about different Jacks.

"Oh we _love_ Jack's weddings. And his stag do’s of course. And... all the other parties he throws. Whenever we feel a bit stuck where to go on a night, we tend to aim for one of his events."

"He's OK then?" she asked cautiously, and the Doctor finally seemed to get her drift, his eyes turning gentle again as he lightly put his hand on her shoulder.

"Yes Martha, he's OK. Time heals all wounds, even the ones that feel unbearable."

'Like mine' she knew he was silently adding, and she wondered how long it had been for him. Yet she was grateful for the evidence in front of her eyes. People got _better_...

Her thoughts were interrupted by River, who - after shooting the still-sleeping archeologist a ruminative look - turned to the Doctor.

"Sorry to interrupt Sweetie, but I think we should probably get a move on before any of the other archaeologists turn up - I don't really fancy kissing any more to be honest. If you give me my wrist strap back, I can fetch the TARDIS?"

The Doctor nodded and unstrapped the vortex manipulator, but as he handed it over, River caught his eyes.

“You know, I was thinking-” she began, but he cut her off.

“No.”

Seeing that she was opening her mouth (presumably to protest), he continued, watching her intently and speaking very deliberately:

“Your parents were one thing. _No one else_.”

She sighed, and deftly wrapped the wrist strap around her wrist as she shot him a droll look.

“Fine. But she should've slapped you harder.”

Martha hadn't been paying much attention to the cryptic disagreement, however, as she had suddenly spied an opportunity to speak to River on her own. It wasn't exactly subtle, but she didn't care.

"Would you mind if I came with you?" she asked, and River looked up from programming the wrist strap with a pleasant smile.

"Not at all. You know how these work I presume?"

Martha nodded, and a few breathless moments later they materialised in front of the TARDIS. River got her key out, but instead of opening the door she leaned against it, studying Martha.

"You don't trust me."

Her voice was still perfectly calm and pleasant, but her eyes were cool and cautiously watchful. Martha took a deep breath.

"No."

"And this even though you have seen that the Doctor does..." River tilted her head. "Would you like to know why?"

"Why he trusts you?" Martha asked, and River shook her head.

"No - why you don't. It's perfectly logical."

Martha was by now feeling the beginnings of a major headache, and had to close her eyes for a moment in order to collect herself.

"Look - can you stop being cryptic for just _one minute_ and explain what you're talking about?"

River chuckled, and finally inserted the key. "Well that's exactly what I was proposing - although I think it'll be easier if you come in and I can do a little show-and-tell."

She opened the door, and Martha followed her inside, before abruptly stopping.

"Oh my god. It's... It's completely changed."

River - who had tossed her jacket onto the coat stand with what was obviously long-ingrained habit - smiled widely as she ascended the stairs which now led up to the central console.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" she said, looking around as if she was in love, in such a perfect echo of the Doctor's attitude that Martha had to do a double take. Then she started tapping something in to a keyboard.

"Hold on - this should help explain things. I'm sure you remember this face?"

A giant circular screen to Martha's left sprang to life, and she almost gasped out loud.

Displayed on the screen was the image of a beautiful young black girl, her hair in braids very similar to Martha's own. She was brandishing a gun and smiling wickedly, her face full of determination and a strange sort of dangerous glee. 

Martha turned to River, heart beating and chest suddenly too tight and every worry she'd had flaring up again tenfold. 

"How... how do you- How could you _possibly_ know about that girl?"

River studied her for a moment, her golden curls framing her face like a halo in the brightness of the new TARDIS, and when she spoke her words were pure impossibility - and yet everything suddenly made sense...

"Because she's me."


	6. Chapter 6

_May 2007 (The Year That Never Was), Professor Docherty's Lab_  
Martha was used to long days and longer nights, yet this one had felt endless. She knew that at some point the enormity of what she had set in motion tonight would hit her, but right now she was too tired, and besides it was all out of her hands. Professor Docherty would betray her and then... Well, whatever happened to her next was up to the Master. All that mattered was that she had done her job well enough for the plan to work.

She closed her eyes as they walked down the corridor towards the main entrance, and Tom looked concerned.

"Are you OK?"

"Fine," she lied. "Just a bit tired, I guess. But we can't stay here..."

Her voice trailed off as a door opened and a girl stuck her head out. She was pretty, and rather like Martha in looks - her hair even pulled back in the same manner, and her clothes were similarly functional and low key.

Stepping forward, she smiled widely and held out her hand.

"Martha, right? Wow. Martha Jones, the Legend. I'm Mels, the Professor's assistant. Sorry but... Could I just have a few moments of your time?"

Shooting Tom a look - a look which seemed to total up all his assets and find him scoring highly - Mels then shrugged apologetically.

"In private?"

"Of course," Tom said. "I was just about to go look for the little boy's room..."

"Down there, and to your left," Mels instructed as she held the door open for Martha to enter. Not having much of a choice, Martha walked in. It was another workshop, full of scattered bits of technology, but Mels didn't apologise for the mess, just leaned against the door after she’d closed it, studying Martha.

"Martha Jones, the woman who's going to kill the Master..." she bit her lip, the look in her eyes was quietly unsettling. "I think I might be jealous."

Martha did her best to smile, having come across this attitude fairly frequently on her travels, but then Mels tilted her head.

"Can I see it? The gun? It's finished now, right? All complete?"

"Um... I guess..." Martha said slowly, carefully removing her backpack before withdrawing the gun and handing it over.

But as Mels turned it over, studying it, her face twisted into a sneer.

"And how, exactly, are you going to kill him with this? Hit him really hard over the head?"

Tossing it back at Martha she shook her head. "And here I was, thinking that maybe I could get some handy tips... Are you going to do anything to him at _all_? Or are you nothing but empty hope? Because that, quite frankly, is just _disgusting_."

Martha swallowed, silent panic rising.

"OK, listen. You can't tell Professor Docherty this, but there is a secret plan. It's the real reason I've travelled round the world - I've given everyone this message: When the countdown hits zero-"

Mels rolled her eyes. "Everyone chants 'Doctor' and hopes the Messiah will save them... Are you seriously telling me that _that_ is the actual plan? _Praying to the Doctor?"_

"It'll work." 

Martha crammed her voice full of as much reassurance as she could, but Mels remained soundly unimpressed.

"Yeah, good luck with that.”

Detaching herself from the door she walked past Martha, stopping by one of the work stations and tapping a monitor which flickered and then grudgingly displayed numbers which looked painfully complex. Mels studied the numbers with satisfaction, then turned to Martha. 

“Well, since you’re here, I might as well let you in on _my_ plan - 'cause I've got some back-up in case Tinkerbell should fail to rise to the challenge when everyone claps."

"What... what do you mean?"

Mels tapped the monitor.

"I have a couple of pretty deadly missiles all ready to go. You and your _precious_ Doctor don't kill the Master, I'll blow up the whole Valiant - two birds with one stone."

Martha had met with more than a few nutters on her travels - people damaged and desperate, more than eager to tell the famous Martha of all the ways in which they were going to destroy the Master above... She had done her best for them, calming or reassuring as judged best, grateful for her medical training. 

But Mels... Mels was something else. Going by logic alone, a girl who looked as if she was barely out of her teens shouldn’t be capable of not just stealing, but also launching missiles... and yet. There was none of the familiar haunted desperation to Mels; just cold, crisp reasoning and determination - and it chilled Martha to the bone. She - without question - believed Mels more than capable of what she was threatening.

Momentarily closing her eyes in order to calm herself, Martha couldn’t stop her voice from being at the point of trembling as she answered.

"My family is up there - my mum, my dad, my sister - as well as all the Master's other hostages and... You just- you can't _do_ that!"

Mels raised an eyebrow, a small superior smile in the corner of her mouth.

"Newsflash preacher-girl: I can do whatever I like. Have you seen the world recently? Please tell me, what makes you and _your_ family so special that I should take them into consideration? Are they more important than everyone else? Why should _they_ get to live when so many others don't? And - in case you’re wondering - then I'm not speaking hypothetically. My father was killed on the first day, and my mother..." 

She lowered her eyes, for the first time showing any kind of deeper emotion. "Maybe it would have been better if she’d been killed too."

The pain was only fleeting however, and when she met Martha’s eyes again there was no hint of any sentiment, her face coldly challanging.

"Basically - if _you_ don’t get the job done, I _will_.”

The moment was broken when one of the odd-looking cobbled-together instruments made a little noise, and Mels reached out and picked it up, tilting her head.

"She must think you've gone already, she's calling him now..."

"How do you-" Martha wasn't sure how to formulate the question, and Mels lifted an eyebrow.

"That _is_ your plan, right? To let the Professor betray you, so the Master will know where you are and get you a ringside seat for the grand finale? Clever. Really liked ‘Know your enemy’ by the way - nice touch that."

Martha, shaking herself out of stasis, busied herself with returning the gun to her backpack. She could really have done without this added complication...

“I should be going,” she said, but when she looked up Mels was studying her silently, arms crossed.

"He can't save you," she finally said, and Martha shrugged.

"Doesn’t matter. Like you said - I’m not special. As long as the Doctor's there, that's the important part."

Mels stared at her, eyes widening as she raised a hand to her mouth.

“Oh my _god_!”

Martha gritted her teeth.

“What?”

Her face breaking out into a wide grin, Mels' eyes filled with undiluted glee.

“Of _course_! Oh Martha, you _are_ special.”

Irritated and unsettled Martha had to fight to not yell at what was probably the most infuriating and dangerous person she had met all year.

“What _is_ it?”

“I should have realised before, when the broadcast was on... Oh Martha. _Doctor_ Martha Jones. You’re not looking to him to save you. _You_ want to save _him_.”

Overwhelmed with mirth Mels brought her hands together.

“I swear, that is the most precious and _stupid_ thing I have come across in _years_. Talk about Mission Impossible...”

Martha could feel herself going hot and cold simultaneously, and she had to grasp onto the bag to stop her hands from shaking. How had she guessed? How the _hell_ had this horrible, infuriating girl guessed what Martha wouldn't even admit to herself?

At that moment, to Martha’s immense relief, there was a knock on the door and Tom entered, interrupting the conversation. Looking from one to the other, noticing the delight on Mels’ face as well as the closed look on Martha’s, he faltered slightly.

“You girls OK?” he asked, caution in his voice, and Martha nodded, feeling vulnerable and exposed and wishing Mels and her keen insights as far away as possible.

“We’re fine,” she said coldly, and Mels smirked, eyes dancing with some kind of secret malice that Martha could neither name nor understand, but which made her more determined than ever to stare down whatever horrors the Master could bring.

“Oh we _really_ are,” Mels said happily. “All the best to you Martha Jones - you go save the world. There, at least, is a task that you might succeed in.”

Martha, too angry to speak, turned on her heel and walked out without another word.

***

Standing in the TARDIS now, bathed in its soft, warm glow, Martha's sudden rush of understanding was like a flood sweeping her along. The first moment of ‘But that’s impossible’ was pushed aside as past and present lined up with undeniable logic, and finally - _finally_ \- everything (River’s abilities, the Doctor’s attitude) made _sense_.

But more than that - she had been right. 

"Know your enemy," Martha whispered, vindication coursing through her. That nameless fear and mistrust which had plagued her since River had first introduced herself... It had a name and it had an origin and it had a _reason_.

As she turned from the image of Mels to River, who was still standing on the platform above her, the other woman (no - Time Lady) smiled, and it was that selfsame infuriatingly smug smile that had so grated back when she’d been Mels. 

“Well then ‘enemy’ - I think we probably need a cup of tea and a good chat before we pick up the boys,” River said, and Martha couldn’t help tensing up.

‘You kill the Doctor’ she thought. ‘And just because he forgives you - he forgave the Master a year of slaughter in a heartbeat, this is _nothing_ \- doesn’t mean _I_ will...’

Sensing Martha’s hesitation, River tilted her head.

“Surely you would like to know _why_ the Doctor asked me to kill him?”

And the solid foundation Martha had so effortlessly built in her mind crumbled to nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

As Martha and River disappeared in a flash, Mickey stared somewhat dumbly at the spot where they’d vanished. Martha probably had her own reasons for her actions - she usually did - but sometimes it would be helpful if she would bother to just _tell_ him what she was planning.

He looked at the Doctor - the new, weird, bow tied Doctor that he didn’t know at all, except he seemed a bit less... _dramatic_ , which was nice - and didn’t have a single clue what to say or do. But, worrying about what might happen if he let the Doctor set the agenda, he grasped onto the first thing that came to him.

“So, that Silurian,” he said, “it kinda left a bit easy, I thought... I mean it’s been here for forty years and then River comes along and suddenly it’s happy to relocate to the moon?”

The Doctor studied him for a long moment, then said, voice quietly reprimanding: “Its _name_ was Morem.”

“Well- No one bothered to tell _us_ , did they?” Mickey replied, defensively, and the Doctor frowned and then rubbed his face.

“Of course. Sorry. It’s just been a long night...” He looked around, chose a rock which was not occupied by a gently snoring archaeologist, and sat down rather heavily, then looked at Mickey with a ponderous sort of look.

“Well... it started _off_ as a night, and it was going to be full of fun and fireworks and... _nice things_ , except the second River heard the words ‘Martha Jones’ and ‘archaeological find’ she was impossible to stop - never mind that we have a _time machine_ and that burials don’t _move_ or change or... _anything_ interesting. Of course when I pointed this out she decided to prove me wrong by leaving immediately... And _then_ , when I got here, there was a Silurian which meant walking on eggshells.” 

He stopped for a moment, looking into the far distance - as Mickey tried to work out how he had somehow become the Doctor’s confidante - and then continued, clearly speaking to himself. 

“I still can’t believe that one of them survived. I wish...”

Sighing he let his head fall, before looking up with a rather resigned and candid look in his eyes, as Mickey sat himself down on the next stone along.

“Sometimes I wonder how this planet produces such... _intransigent_ creatures. You’re all so happy to start fighting over nothing more than suspicion and perceived differences...”

Then he blinked, and studied Mickey with slight confusion.

“Sorry. I disappeared off on a tangent there, didn’t I? I’m... Companion-less at the moment and tend to talk to myself. Well there’s River of course, but she comes and goes, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. What did you ask? Oh, yes I remember. Well, basically, River managed to find Silurian contractors - she has... a lot of contacts - so hopefully Morem’s off somewhere in the 51st Century discovering long lost cousins, rather than watching over long dead ones.”

“Handy lady, your wife,” Mickey said casually, grateful for the explanation, and the Doctor looked simultaneously pleased and embarrassed, scratching the back of his head.

“She is at that. Wives generally are, I think... Which reminds me, I never asked - how’s married life working out for you and Martha?”

Although slightly surprised by the rather personal question, Mickey couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he answered.

"S good," he said, "Yeah, it's really good."

"Good. Very good,” the Doctor replied with great satisfaction, before he continued, studying Mickey thoughtfully.

“You know I was rather worried about you - hope you don’t mind me saying that it put my mind to rest when I discovered that you and Martha had hooked up... They’re good people, the Joneses."

Mickey blinked and tried not to look stupid as he looked at the Doctor.

"You... _worried_? About me?"

The Doctor leaned forward, tilting his head.

"Of _course_ I worried. You'd lost your grandmother - again - as well as Rose and her family, for good, what with me leaving them in Pete’s world with the other me, and I don't think there was ever anyone else? I...” he hesitated, eyes momentarily lost. 

“I happen to know what that's like. So yes, I worried."

For a moment Mickey was completely speechless, then he slowly shook his head, staring at the Doctor as if this strange new version was about to grow wings and fly away. His heart was suddenly beating too fast and he wanted to grab hold of the stone for stability.

"But - you really _care_. About me." He swallowed, feeling more shaky than he had all day. " _You_. Care. About _me_."

The look on the Doctor's face could now only be described as genuine alarm, and he reached out, grasping Mickey's shoulder and studying him intently, clearly struggling with finding the right words to the same extent that Mickey was.

"Mickey... why on earth would you think that I don’t care about you?"

A beat, during which Mickey contemplated just trying to brush the whole thing off - this was exactly what he hadn’t wanted. On the other hand - maybe it’d be good to get the thing out in the open? The Doctor had started it after all...

"Well, y'know... The way you always got my name wrong. The way you'd call me Mickey the Idiot. The way I was so clearly the third wheel on the wagon when it came to you and Rose. Don't get me wrong, you were quite decent some of the time, but-"

He let the sentence hang, and the Doctor let his hand fall away as he slowly nodded, and somehow he suddenly looked very old, and very tired, as he with great care rested his elbows on his knees and threaded his fingers together.

"Ah yes. That," he said softly, and when he continued, it at first seemed as if he was mostly speaking to himself.

“Amy once told me that every room I walk in to, I laugh at all the men and show off to all the girls. And well,” he fidgeted, a little uncomfortably, “she- did have a bit of a point, I suppose. It’s not really a conscious thing, except... well, with you I guess it was. Because Rose...”

A long pause, as he looked into the distance.

“It’s so long ago now, and those were such dark days. But she shone so brightly... How to explain it?” 

He shot Mickey a pensive look. “Well, you’ve seen some of the darkness out there by now, Mickey. Seen the price of war. I met Rose when... all I had left was darkness and ashes. And she was young and innocent and I needed her to be those things for me - to show me that there was still something worth living for. That there was still beauty and wonder left... I might have lost everything else, but I had found _her_ , and she... She _believed_ in me, she _trusted_ me, and I clung to her like the drowning man I was. And _you_..." 

A slow shake of the head. “You were a walking, talking, bluntly precise reminder that nothing ever lasts. That I would lose her the way I'd lost everyone else, no matter what. I am very good at lying - even to myself, if necessary - and you wouldn’t let me get away with it. Every time I saw you, I knew that she could have a future with you that I could never give her... So, I suppose that I was jealous. I'm a selfish old man, Mickey, and often foolish too, and I am sorry. You deserved far better than you got, and I’m glad you have now found it.”

For a long moment Mickey could only stare, wanting to ask 'Who are you, and what have you done with the Doctor?' Eventually he just nodded and said a quiet "Thank you," unsure what the hell had just happened. The Doctor had been jealous? The Doctor was _apologising_? He was beginning to suspect that he'd woken up in a parallel universe, but it seemed an improvement on the old one, so he wasn't about to complain.

Then the Doctor frowned and stood up, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sun and looking towards the mud track that had been upgraded to road for the sake of archaeology. 

“They’re returning,” he said, and Mickey could begin to make out the rumble of a distant car.

Muttering to himself, the Doctor pulled out some sort of microphone-earpiece _thing_ , attached it to his ear and said: “River! Where are you?” in a rather accusatory way, and then frowned.

“What do you mean you’re _busy_? Listen - just bring the TARDIS here _now_ \- my now - your 21st Century colleagues are coming back!”

Whatever River’s response to this was Mickey didn’t know, except that it made the Doctor press his lips together angrily and stuff the communicator back in his pocket. 

Mickey waited, but the TARDIS didn’t appear. Instead a battered old mini van appeared in the distance and Mickey looked around, wondering if he and the Doctor could make a run for the SUV, so as to avoid the rather pertinent questions the archaeologists would no doubt have about the hole in the ground where there had until an hour ago been a burial mound. 

“Doctor-” he began, half turning, and then realised that the Doctor had sat back down again on his rock, stubbornness engraved on his features.

“All I wanted was a nice evening. With some dancing. What did I do to deserve _this_?”

He looked at Mickey plaintively, and Mickey took a deep breath.

“Look Doctor, can we just-”

Sighing, the Doctor shook his head.

“No actually, don’t answer that, I know I deserve far worse. _But_ -”

“Doctor!” Mickey had to resist an overwhelming urge to grab hold of the tweed lapels and shake the Time Lord. “Those archaeologists are going to be here in about two seconds-”

The Doctor waved a dismissive hand, like some monarch swatting invisible flies.

“Oh I’ll think of something. I just wonder when I became so stupid. I could at this moment in time be preparing to hibernate with a lovely two-headed new husband, the _exact_ shade of TARDIS blue... With 17 hats. Not a bad deal."

Face clouding over, he shook his head.

"River shoots them, you know. My hats. Uses them as target practice. Especially if they’re on my head at the time. _Rose_ would never have done that. Nor Martha... Or Donna.” He frowned. "Ace might have tried once, but she was more into explosives. Sarah Jane wouldn't _dream_ of it. Leela..."

Letting his arms fall in defeat, Mickey turned to face the five archaeologists which had now climbed out of the van and were staring at the sizable crater in astonishment, exclaiming loudly. Then one of them - a purple haired young woman in a checkered shirt - noticed the still-sleeping Doctor Roberts and ran forward, as the others descended on Mickey and the Doctor. Mickey tried his best to field the barrage of questions by directing them towards the Doctor, who was studying them with the tired look of an old teacher minding nursery children.

At this moment Doctor Roberts finally woke up, and jumped to his feet.

“It was aliens!” he declared, effectively silencing his colleagues, and then looked around in confusion.

“Where did Doctor Song go?” he asked, and the Doctor shot Mickey a pointed look.

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? Wanders off, leaving us stranded. Sometimes-”

He kept talking, but at that moment there was the barely audible _tzap_ sound of a teleport, and everyone looked up to see a yellow-suited creature appear out of thin air.

“You see? Martians!” Doctor Roberts exclaimed, and the Doctor stopped talking to himself and looked around at them, puzzled, as they were all obviously captivated by something behind him.

The creature, however, didn't seem to notice them at all, being focussed on some kind of oblong piece of technology, which it was shaking and holding up to the darkened visor, before impatiently reaching up and pulling the whole helmet off.

Its face was green and scaly - but with humanoid features - and, although rather different from Morem, Mickey presumed that this was one of the Silurian contractors. He felt like he ought to do, or say, something, but what that something should be, he didn't know.

Then the Doctor, much to his relief, finally stood up and turned around to discover what they were all staring at.

The Silurian was now intently studying his instrument, tapping in a quick sequence - and suddenly a bolt of light shot out towards the group. Everyone scrambled to get out of the way, except the Doctor who was still in the process of turning. 

The ray hit him squarely in the chest, and, without a sound, he collapsed on the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

“Doctor!” Mickey cried, rushing to the fallen Doctor’s side, ignoring both the screams from the archeologists and the threat of further Silurian violence. What was it Martha had told him about CPR? Although if he’d been shot, was he going to regenerate? Hands trembling, Mickey - with immense relief - located two heartbeats, and was just wondering what to do next when the Doctor’s eye suddenly snapped open, staring at Mickey with stunned concentration.

“Did I just see-?” he asked, before scrambling to his feet, a wide grin breaking out on his face as his eyes fastened on the Silurian.

“Doctor Malohkeh!” he exclaimed, and then covered the distance between them in no time at all due to his long legs, as Mickey stared dumbly after him, witnessing the resulting hug with the cogs in his brain refusing to turn.

“Mickey!” the Doctor called out a moment later, his arm around the Silurian. “Come here, let me introduce you!”

Cautiously Mickey walked up, and the Doctor beamed at him. “This is Doctor Malohkeh - I mentioned him, remember?”

“Um, I think so?” Mickey replied, still wary. “Just - if you’re friends... Why did he _shoot_ you?”

Doctor Malohkeh looked very apologetic as he reached out and shook Mickey’s hand.

“Pleasure to meet you young man,” he said, his voice rich and cultured and sounding just like one would expect a doctor to sound. “I’m afraid I experienced somewhat of a malfunction. This-” he held up the oblong tool, “-is a clever new 'all-in-one' prototype that, as senior medical staff, I was asked to try out. It’s essentially a diagnostic tool, but it has an inbuilt communicator and database and so forth, as well as some basic medical functions - including anaesthetic...”

“It’s a bit like a refined stungun,” the Doctor finished off. “Set to Silurian, so it only knocked me out for a moment, no harm done.”

“Right,” Mickey said slowly, as the Doctor turned to Doctor Malohkeh again: “But how is everyone? Nasreen? Tony? It’s been an age...”

Deciding to leave them to their chatter, Mickey turned and looked around.

“Hey everyone!” he called out. “It’s OK! It was just a misunderstanding - we’re not in danger!”

The leader of the dig, a middle aged woman in a dark raincoat, her hair in a sensible plait, stepped forwards.

“Very well. Does that mean that we might finally get some explanations? I’m Professor Townend, and, quite frankly, I would like to know what happened to _my_ dig, and what aliens have to do with it!”

She glared at Doctor Malohkeh, and the others congregated behind her as Mickey bit his lip.

“Right. The green dude isn’t alien, but the one in the bow tie is. And together they should be able to explain what happened...”

Turning, he was just in time to see another yellow spacesuit appear in a flash, and his heart sank. This time however, the person inside didn’t mess around and immediately removed the helmet, revealing herself to be another middle-aged women, except one that bore somewhat of a resemblance to Mickey’s late grandmother.

Upon seeing her, Doctor Malokeh smiled with ill-disguised relief.

“And here she is. As I was just explaining Doctor, we were a party of two, trying to get to the bottom of this mystery... Well, _I_ chose to come along to learn something about a new ancestor... Professor-” he turned to the newcomer, as he indicated the Doctor with an elegant sweep of his hand, “-this is the man who can answer your questions.”

The Professor looked the Doctor over, eyes narrowing, and Mickey was almost startled when her accent turned out to be bland upper-class English, rather than carrying the deep Jamaican lilt of his grandma.

“Good. I would like to know why Luna University suddenly has a new dig, under mine and Doctor Song’s custody - I’ve had _quite_ the difficult morning trying to answer questions I had no response for. Sorry, I’ve not introduced myself, have I?”

She held out her hand. “Professor Pond. Pleasure to meet you.”

There was a beat, as the Doctor seemed to freeze. Not out of awkwardness, but in that way he had of shifting his entire focus onto a single thing. The smile that subsequently broke out on his face was so luminous that Mickey felt he needed sunglasses.

“Professor Pond,” he said, carefully enunciating every syllable as he shook her hand warmly, “the pleasure is all mine!”

Before they could continue, Professor Townend interrupted.

“Excuse me, but would this be _my_ dig that we are discussing? And what is this ‘Luna’ University?”

The Doctor looked from one to the other, then clasped his hands together.

“Ladies. Allow me to explain...”

After a brief, if somewhat meandering, foray into the history of the Silurian people (to which Professor Townend didn’t say anything, except look deeply sceptical), he then proceeded to explain the afternoon’s happenings in a more-and-less straightforward manner - although Mickey, with interest, noticed the way various parts were left out or obfuscated.

As the Doctor finished his explanations, Professor Townend planted her hands on her hips and looked him up and down.

“So, basically, you’re saying that this Doctor Song _stole_ our dig?”

As he hesitated, Professor Pond spoke up.

“Technically, yes. Of course, under the Silurian Act of 3124 all Silurian artifacts are automatically the property of the Silurian People, but since we’re around a thousand years away from that here... Well, she did everything by the book. The dig is ours now.”

“I beg your pardon?” Professor Towend asked, her focus shifting. “How did it magically become _yours_? I get that you're from the future, but theft is theft. Besides, I’m still not sure this isn’t some kind of hidden camera TV show. I’d be expecting Jeremy Beadle to jump out at any minute if he wasn’t dead.”

Professor Pond crossed her arms, not an easy feat in the bright yellow suit she was wearing.

“I can assure you that this is no joke to us either, Professor. If you’ll allow me, I will explain the situation?"

"That would be marvellous," Professor Townend replied drily, and Professor Pond, refusing to rise to the bait, instead entered into lecture mode.

"Now then. First of all Doctor Song moved the dig to the moon, which is neutral ground. No court in the Empire would let you move it again. Besides, _you_ don't have the technology. Secondly she did all the legal paperwork in exquisite detail - the woman is a genius, unfortunately for you. How she manages to run around and steal archeology when she's in the highest security prison known to man I'll never know - makes the university look bad too, of course, but I _did_ warn them..."

"Prison?" Professor Townend interrupted. "So she's a wellknown fraudster?"

Professor Pond studied her with equal parts pity and seriousness.

"She's a wellknown _murderer_. Probably the most famous and dangerous woman in the universe. Which was going to be my third point: If I was you, I'd count my lucky stars that you were away when she turned up, and be grateful she didn't want anything other than your dig. Because nobody's gonna help you get it back - no one in their right mind crosses that woman."

Mickey, slightly taken aback at the vehemence in Professor Pond's voice, turned his head to see what the Doctor's reaction to all this could be, and found him watching proceedings with mercurial eyes, smugness practically radiating off him.

‘He likes it,’ Mickey realised with a jolt. ‘His wife is an infamous intergalactic criminal... and he _likes_ it.’

For her part, Professor Townend looked momentarily shaken, yet swiftly rallied.

"So, what am I supposed to say to people? ‘Oh by the way, my possibly ground breaking new discovery was stolen by a notorious murderous con woman from the future’? That'll go down well with the people who approved my funding."

The Doctor cleared his throat, straightened his bowtie, and stepped into the fray once more.

"Well... River's plan was for none of you to discover what had happened, leaving only Doctor Roberts as a rather unreliable witness, talking about little green men, which would have caused UNIT to take an interest and cover everything up. Pretty flawless plan, apart from leaving Mickey and myself here..."

“You’re her partner?” Professor Pond asked, eyeing him warily, and the Doctor lifted his chin.

“I’m her _husband_ ,” he said proudly, and Professor Pond sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Oh marvellous. I’m surrounded by crooks and thieves. What a day.”

“I’m not a-” the Doctor began, then stopped himself. “Well, I’m not a crook. As such.”

Professor Pond looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“I’m presuming, by the way, that you were the one who impersonated me?”

The Doctor looked rather offended, and poked the front of her space suit.

“I was merely being myself. I’ve gone by Professor on more than one occasion, and I _am_ a Pond. We might even be related,” he finished triumphantly, that joyful glint once more in his eyes.

"Dear Lord I hope not," Professor Pond replied, with feeling, and Mickey could feel the warning signs of a major argument begin to assert itself (a handy sixth sense he'd picked up from prolonged exposure to Martha's family).

"Hey - why don't we get a cup of tea and try to find some kind of solution that'll work for everyone?" he suggested, hoping his voice didn't sound as unconvincingly cheerful to the others as it did to his own ears, and the Doctor turned to him eagerly.

"Mickey? You're a genius! Professor Pond, I've not introduced you to this marvellous young man, have I? This is Mickey Smith, my good friend and the man who single-handedly prevented World War Three."

"Excuse me, I know my history-" Professor Pond began, but the Doctor interrupted.

"-in 2005. Or was it 2006? My memory isn't what it was... Funny how you get past a millennia and stuff just begins to blend together. Anyway. _Tea_. This is England, so there _must_ be tea making facilities in this camp somewhere."

He looked around expectantly, and Professor Townend sighed and turned to the purple-haired girl.

"Fine. Ella, be a dear and put the kettle on? Wish we had something better than PG Tips, but nevermind. It'll have to do."

The Doctor's face lit up once more.

"PG Tips? That's the one with the monkeys and the piano, isn't it? I love that one!"

Professor Pond turned to Doctor Malohkeh (who had been keeping quietly out of argument's way - clever bloke), and they shot each other a blank look.

"Oh there's nothing like _living_ history!" the Doctor said, then added, with a hopeful look towards Ella. "You don't by any chance have some jammy dodgers?"

The girl shook her head mutely, and he sighed and turned to Mickey.

"Once held off a Dalek invasion with a jammy dodger. Well, it worked for a few minutes."

From the looks on the two Professors’ faces they were still wanting a _lot_ more answers, and Mickey strained his ears for the telltale grind of the TARDIS which would take them away from all this awkwardness...

But he was listening in vain. 

At that same moment River was pouring Martha another cup of tea, carefully studying the young woman.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” she asked, as Martha folded her hands around the fine bone china, before closing her eyes and nodding.

“I’m good.”

‘You’re not good, you’re _amazing'_ , River thought to herself. ‘Amazing, and far, _far_ too brave. Oh Doctor. Why do I ever let you out...’


	9. Chapter 9

Whether it was the tea, or just the action of getting everyone to sit down, the hostility began to recede, and the interrogation of the Doctor - as well as the plan to determine some kind of solution to the problem of the stolen dig - took a back seat as the current, the ancient past and the future all tried to get an understanding of each other.

Mickey noticed that the Doctor allowed himself to fade into the background, eventually choosing a seat near the tent opening with an overview of the people around the table, from whence he silently observed the discussions. It took Mickey a while to work out what it reminded him of, and then it hit him - it was like a parent, watching as the kids made new friends and keeping an eye on them just in case squabbles might break out. But then he was _old_ , wasn't he? Rose had said 900, and he'd talked about a millennium earlier on... 

This was something Mickey had never really considered in any sort of detail, as the question of age had usually been framed as 'I am old, so shut up, because I know best' (sounding just like his teachers from school). Not _old_ old, in the way his grandma had been - somehow removed from the current world, watching life pass by from some indefinable vantage point, amused and entertained by the antics of the ‘young people’. (Except when he'd screwed up. She hadn't even needed to say anything then, she'd just _looked_. He had a feeling that this new, older Doctor had that disappointed look down to absolute perfection.) 

Musing on this Mickey found himself drifting away from the conversations around him, although after a while he was unable to ignore another kind of distraction: the effects of three consecutive cups of tea were very insistent, and eventually he had to excuse himself.

When he walked off in search of the Portaloo, he realised that he’d not been keeping track of the time, as the sun was now almost setting and a low mist hung over the surrounding fields. But it wasn’t until he was heading back to the tent a little later that he stopped to admire the landscape. As he watched, the last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon, the sky awash with oranges and reds receding into dark blue, and the moon, already out, hung like a shining disk right above him. So near, and yet so far...

"Correct me if I'm wrong-" a voice said softly behind him, nearly making him jump out of his skin, "-but I don't think you've ever been to the moon?"

Turning on the spot, Mickey saw the Doctor leaning against the archaeologists' mini van, a finger across his lips as Mickey opened his mouth.

Mickey shook his head mutely, and the Doctor smiled.

"Would you like to go?"

Looking around, confused, Mickey frowned, but answered in the same soft whisper.

"Did River come back with the TARDIS? I didn't hear anything..."

It was the Doctor’s turn to shake his head, before he detached himself from the mini van and walked up to him, and Mickey could just about make out the way his eyes were lit up with... something very much resembling mischief.

"Well, I was thinking - there are two space suits in that tent over there, with inbuilt teleporters. Seems a shame not to make use of them."

Keeping his face and voice carefully neutral, Mickey raised an eyebrow.

"That's... a pretty radical idea. You sure that Professor Pond won’t mind?"

The Doctor shrugged, the familiar devil-may-care swagger now in full evidence.

"She can't mind what she doesn't know about... Rule 17: If the answer is going to be no - do it before anyone finds out."

Somewhere in Mickey's head the image of the Doctor paralleling his grandmother was turned upside down, and, heart suddenly beating with excitement, he followed the Doctor as they tiptoed towards the tent where the space suits had been put away. 

"Seriously though?" he whispered, appreciation growing by the second, feeling like he was seven again and sneaking off with his mates illicitly. "In theory you'd just ‘borrow’ anything that's not nailed down?"

The Doctor, who was trying to insert himself through the tent flap without causing too much of the velcro to rip apart noisily (considering his gangliness he was surprisingly limber), stopped and beamed at him.

"Why not? After all, that's how it all started."

"What do you mean?" Mickey asked, following by the same route, and the Doctor, now busy inspecting the space suits, turned to him with a surprised frown.

"Surely I must have told you this? I stole the TARDIS - back when I first ran away from Gallifrey. I was fed up with all the stuffiness and the boring rules, and I wanted to see the universe... They caught up with me eventually of course, and the punishment was-"

He stopped abruptly, and Mickey dearly wished that the tent wasn't quite so dark, because he could barely make out the Doctor's face.

"Anyway, I got to keep her - and she me. My beautiful, magical box. Here - I think this one is closest to your size."

Realising he'd unexpectedly hit a tender nerve, Mickey got on with the business of getting the suit on (a far more difficult task than he'd anticipated), silently musing on what a Time Lord punishment could have been like, as well as the fact that it had been necessary... The marvellous, wonderful Doctor - not so much shining hero and authority figure, as trouble-making tearaway with a rap sheet. Why hadn’t he known this before? Although it certainly explained his attraction to River... 

Finally, however, the Doctor attached his helmet to the rest of the outfit, and stepped back, surveying him.

"Mickey Smith, space man," he said, with great satisfaction, before carefully checking that the suits were properly done up and then programmed the teleports.

"Ready?" he asked, and before Mickey had time to nod the world went to whiteout. 

And then... 

Then he was standing on the moon.

For a moment he could only stare around in silence. 

"I'm on the moon," he said finally, stupidly, as a wide grin broke out on his face. "Holy... This is _amazing!"_

A soft chuckle from the Doctor.

"Happy to help. You know, I once had a badge that said that - wish I’d kept it. Anyway, it seemed especially apropos as the moon was your lovely wife's first proper adventure, and we went back... oh so very many times. Seems only fair that you should get a taste of it too."

“ _Thank_ you,” he replied, with feeling, before taking a step, unable to stop himself from saying: “One small step for man...” in a terrible American accent.

The Doctor started to say: “You know, I once started a revolution with Neil Armstrong’s foot-”, but Mickey just shook his head and happily ignored him, as he experimented with walking in the low gravity, and the Doctor took the hint and shut up. (Neil Armstrong's foot - yeah right.)

He wasn’t quite sure how long he spent fooling around, but after a while he became aware of the Doctor watching him. Suddenly self-conscious, he carefully turned around, doing his best to aim for nonchalant.

“Sorry, this must be kinda boring for you...”

The Doctor looked distinctly puzzled.

“Why would I be bored?”

“Well... you must have been to the moon about a million times.”

“But I’ve never been to the moon with _you_ ,” the Doctor replied, as if this was the most logical thing ever, and it stopped Mickey in his tracks. 

“Doctor-” he began, unsure how to formulate the question, but knowing that suddenly he really cared about the answer. “Why does River kill you?”

The Doctor studied him silently for a moment, then turned to watch the endless blackness above them.

"Oh Mickey. _You_ always knew the answer to that.”

For a second Mickey thought that this enigmatic non-answer was all the explanation he was going to get, but then the Doctor continued, voice oddly quiet.

“'You look deep enough on the Internet... and in the history books, and there's my name. Followed by a list of the dead.' Doesn't just go for Earth of course. There are places out there, where the word ‘Doctor’ means ‘Mighty Warrior’. And people noticed. People with followers and armies and lots of good reasons for wishing me dead."

“So they hired River?” Mickey asked cautiously, trying not to show how shocked he was that the Doctor not only remembered his words, but acknowledged the truth in them. Except he wasn’t so sure about his own conclusions anymore...

The Doctor’s reaction to his question wasn't what he'd expected, as the Time Lord closed his eyes and bowed his head. His face seemed ghostly; pale angular features outlined against the blackness behind them and the reflection of the moonscape arched across the helmet’s curve. Eventually he opened his eyes again, speaking slowly and quietly, his gaze on the distant stars.

“Oh, if only it had been that simple. You once accused me of ruining your life - and if I was harsh with you then, it was only because I knew how much worse it could be. Still... I never saw River coming.”

Finally looking Mickey in the eyes, he smiled the most bitter smile Mickey had ever seen.

“You see - she was born to kill me.”

A brief pause, then he retracted.

“No, that isn’t right. She was born Melody Pond, the beloved daughter of my best friends. And then she was stolen. Not even a month old, they literally tore her out of her mother’s arms, and I couldn’t get her back. They hid her away with monsters, and they turned her into a weapon - the perfect killing machine, just for me. Not just physically able, but they manipulated time itself, and she and I are now forever caught in the web of time, unable to escape. My death is a fixed point, and she... She never got a choice about the role she plays.”

The Doctor fell silent again, as Mickey tried to let this information sink in. He (still), very vividly, remembered Jackie’s pain and distress when Rose had gone missing... But losing a baby? He thought of Martha’s new little niece, barely a month old - recalled Leo’s ecstatic phone call at 3 in the morning to tell them the news that she’d been born, and the love and attention lavished on her from everyone ever since. He couldn't begin to imagine the devastation if they lost her. And to have been the cause of such pain - oh the transformation made sense now... The happenings of the afternoon, and River’s attitude, were rearranging themselves inside his mind, and everything now fitted, like jigsaw pieces. River had talked about the collateral damage, and knowing her place in the Doctor’s story - damn. The woman was a saint. No, that wasn’t right. She was... How had the Doctor put it? ‘A walking, talking, bluntly precise reminder’. River was that very thing - a tangible, constant reminder of what the Doctor clearly considered his worst sin. And he’d _married_ her. Obviously there were still great swathes of backstory that Mickey didn’t know, but some things spoke for themselves - most especially the fact that the Doctor wasn’t trying to make any excuses for himself. (And River probably wouldn't let him anyway.)

Then the Doctor interrupted his thoughts.

“I'm sorry, but this is all very gloomy, which wasn’t what I intended at all. I think the actual site for the moon landing is just over that ridge up there, if you’d like a look?”

“Sure,” Mickey replied, and the Doctor set off. “Now Martha thought that the best view was from the other side, but I never thought so. I’m very much looking forward to your thoughts on the issue...”

***

When they finally returned to Earth it had gone almost completely dark, and - judging by the laughter emanating from the largest tent - their excursion hadn't been noticed. Once they'd managed to get out of the space suits, leaving them outside the nearest tent, the Doctor didn't head back to the gathering, instead looking around, eyes narrowing.

"Mickey," he said softly. "Where did you park?"

"Uh, right over there..." he replied, pointing towards where the car ought to be. "That's weird, it's gone. I think... it's kinda dark in case you hadn't noticed."

The Doctor chuckled, and began walking in the direction he was pointing.

"Not weird - River is _very_ good at spacey-wacey parking."

Before Mickey could ask him to elaborate, he turned on the spot and seemed to lean against thin air.

"Mickey, my friend - our ride out of here has finally arrived!"

Lifting his left hand he snapped his fingers, and - in the middle of the air - a door sprang open.

"But-" Mickey said, flummoxed, and the Doctor grinned. 

"She can turn invisible - did I never mention that?"

Unable to stop a matching grin spreading across his face, Mickey shook his head.

“Dude. You're like... the biggest showoff in the _universe!"_

The Doctor’s grin turned into a full-blown smirk.

“Well, Jack is giving me a good run for my money, but I'm happy to have your vote!” 

Laughing, Mickey walked through the doorway, and then stopped dead in his tracks for the second time. The Doctor followed, closing the door behind them, and then looped his arm around Mickey's shoulders as he with his other hand made a large sweep towards the new interior.

"Quite something, isn't she?" he said proudly, and Mickey could only nod. He was dimly aware of River standing at the controls, which were now on a raised glass-floored platform, and only at the very back of his mind wondered why Martha, descending the stairs, looked so serious. It had been a mad, ridiculous, scary sort of day, but also magical on a scale he still tried to comprehend, and somehow all the beauty he'd taken in was doing something to him that he couldn't explain. The starkness of the moon, the golden warmth of the TARDIS, the way the Doctor seemed to, for the first time, _see_ him... Long held anger and resentment were giving way, collapsing and breaking apart like an iceberg which found itself in a warmer and more hospitable climate. Impossible as he would have found the notion just that very morning, he found that he _liked_ the Doctor.

"She's beautiful," he nodded, watching the Doctor's face light up, and he felt that this day had turned out pretty perfect all told. Noticing that Martha was now with them, he turned his head towards her, but what he was about to say died on his lips as he saw the look on her face.

"Martha?" the Doctor asked, his features rapidly losing the joy that had illuminated them - but she only tilted her head, before calmly and forcefully punching him squarely in the face.


	10. Chapter 10

The impact of Martha’s punch was rather satisfying, she thought.

The Doctor staggered, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he still had his arm around Mickey, grasping onto him to steady himself, he would probably have ended up on the floor.

As Mickey instinctively helped to stabilise the Doctor, he turned his head towards Martha, incredulous.

"What the hell was that for woman?" he asked angrily, and she answered without taking her eyes off the Doctor, who was now holding a hand against his face.

“He lied.”

A beat, as Mickey stared at her, jaw dropping.

“You are _kidding_ , right? If Jack was still around would you punch him for flirting?”

She didn’t answer. This was between her and the Doctor.

> “Are you sure you’re OK?” River had asked, as Martha had folded her hands around the fine bone china, before closing her eyes and nodding.
> 
> “I’m good.”
> 
> ‘Good’ was relative of course. She felt like the very ground had vanished from under her - as if she was a cartoon character that had been running on thin air, and was now falling, falling, falling...
> 
> But he’d taught her well, that marvellous, treacherous Doctor. There was always one thing to hold onto against pain and deceit: 
> 
> _Anger_. 
> 
> So she folded herself around the fury inside, and clung on. 

The Doctor slowly lowered his hand, the pain clearly forgotten as he watched her intently.

“Which lie?” he asked carefully - neither surprised, nor shocked or angry; and somehow it just made things worse. 

She wanted _her_ Doctor ( _fire and ice and rage_ ), the one with danger and enchantment shimmering in his eyes ( _burn with me_ ) - a girl could get lost in those eyes and never get out. She wanted that broken, perilous core, wanted him to lash out, give her something to _fight_ , somewhere to channel her fury.

But all she had was this quiet stranger, who looked at her with apologies he knew were useless and eyes as old as time. She didn’t know what to do with that, so she forced herself to take a step back, mentally - no matter how much better she’d feel by yelling, it wouldn’t give her the result she wanted. So she fixed him with a cool stare, and forced the anger down.

(Deep breath, Martha. Explain it so that he can’t avoid the truth.)

“You made up a lie once, to defeat the Master - remember? About a gun in four parts, strong enough to kill a Time Lord permanently. I used to wonder why that ruse worked. Surely he must have known that you wouldn’t ask me to kill... But then, he _was_ insane.”

She swallowed, face hardening.

“But he knew you better than I did, didn’t he? _So_ much better. After all, the woman you love is a murderer _because of you_. And I know you’re not dead yet, but you _expect_ her to kill you. Doctor... I spent a _year_ of my life, walking through hell for you. Because I believed you were _different_. Because I believed you were _better_. Because I _loved_ you. And now... You do _this_? To your _wife_?”

Stopping momentarily, she tried to fight the tears and the bitterness and the hollow, painful space in her chest.

“Davros said you turned people into weapons - I thought that he was just a ranting lunatic, twisting everything out of hatred. Because you told the Master that you would never ask me - or any of us - to kill. Like... it was _so obvious_ it could never be otherwise. But that? _That_ was a lie. Unless killing for you is a special wifely privilege? 

He watched her silently for a long moment, his discomfort and defensiveness like the deep, silent swell of the sea, but then he lowered his eyes, head abruptly bowed in defeat.

“No.”

It was a bitter victory, for all that she’d wanted it. But it did allow her to ask the question which had been burning in her mind ever since River had told her how he would die. 

“So what did I believe in?” 

Lifting his head, he studied her again, and she couldn’t begin to guess at what thoughts were going through his head. She could see the shadow of a bruise now forming, and wondered where all the magic had gone. Was he just a charlatan, a cunning liar who used people? How did any of it _fit_?

Finally he answered, words slow and careful, his hands clasped together awkwardly - and he couldn’t have been any further from the man she had fallen in love with if he’d suddenly turned ginger.

“You believed in a man who needed your belief in order to exist. Like...” he waved a hand in the air, “...when everyone on Earth said my name, they gave me the power to escape the Master’s control. That’s what you did for me, every day. Martha - your belief _created_ me.” 

She stared at him, eyebrows raising.

“Sorry, I... _what?”_

“Trust is a very powerful thing. I trusted you to save the world, and you became Martha Jones, the Legend. When they looked at you, believing that you could do it - who were you then? Did they believe a lie?”

She opened her mouth, unsure, but didn’t know what to say, as he reached out and grasped onto her shoulders, the shadow of a smile on his face. A strange, very serious sort of smile, that she couldn’t gauge.

“And there, Martha my dear, lies the paradox. When you become a story, you belong to others, and there is no simple truth. The hero of one story, is the villain in another... The Master saved the Toclafane, and you and I and Jack condemned them to the dark and the cold and the end of all things.”

Letting his hands fall, he kept holding her eyes.

“If it helps at all, then I was lying to myself too - because it's nice to be the hero all the time. But then, as River has clearly explained to you, came Demons Run, and I learned that as much as I wanted, I couldn’t run from the truth forever." 

Sighing, he pulled a hand through is hair, messing up the smoothness and somehow managing to look even more rueful than before. 

"I can’t save her Martha. I can’t save her at all.”

“So... you just gave up? But you _never_ -”

“Listen, are you done yet?” Mickey cut through, leaving both of them to turn to him in surprise. “Martha - I love you, but you’re turning into your mother. Give the guy a break.”

It took a moment for Martha’s brain to compute what she was hearing, and then she shook her head. 

“And since when did _you_ suddenly become his best friend?” she asked suspiciously, and Mickey shrugged.

“I dunno, but I don’t know why him screwing up is your business. Can’t you just let it be? I’ve been saying this for _years_ \- not that anyone’s ever listened - but he’s not some kind of messiah-”

A peal of laughter broke him off, and they all turned to River, whom they had almost forgotten. She beamed down at them.

“Mickey? You’re a genius! And Sweetie, don’t you _dare_ deny it - you are most certainly a _very_ naughty boy!”

Looking from one to the other the Doctor fidgeted, embarrassment warring with reluctant acquiescence.

“The preferred term on Gallifrey was ‘Renegade’,” he said finally, almost primly, clearly trying to hold onto some shred of dignity - something which was ruined completely when his eyes suddenly widened and he turned to Mickey, grasping his face with both hands and planting a firm kiss on his forehead.

“Renegade! Mickey you _are_ a genius!”

Pivoting on the spot he turned to Martha, leaving Mickey blinking in shock. 

“That’s what we were Martha - renegades. The Master, the Rani, Drax, myself and so many others... It was a term applied to anyone who refused to abide by Gallifrey’s non-interference laws and, as I'm sure you've noticed, I _do_ love interfering. But then came the Time War...” 

His voice trailed off in a fleeting moment of remembrance, but the ghosts in his eyes were quiet now.

“And then, there was only me left. It’s hard to be a rebel when there’s nothing to rebel against... Which is why, I suppose, it all went wrong.”

As he spoke River had descended the stairs, and now gently brushed his hair out of his eyes, hand lingering over the bruise which was beginning to blossom on his face.

“And I say that it’s time to remember Rule 27 - you're being far too serious, and it doesn't suit you. Come here my beautiful idiot, and let me kiss it better.”

Obediently closing his eyes he leaned forward (much like a little boy who’d been asked by his mother to stand still as she cleaned his face), and River with the utmost gentleness planted a lingering kiss.

“Better?” she asked as she pulled away, and Martha's eyes widened. The bruise had vanished, and the Doctor smiled.

“Much better, thank you dear. One day you’ll have to tell me how you do that...”

“Not a chance,” she laughed, and Martha shook her head. 

“Any other tricks up your sleeve?”

“Ah,” the Doctor said, holding up his index finger, before disappearing up to the central console, eyes brimming with excitement, and for a moment he became exceedingly busy pulling levers and turning dials. 

As the time rotor started moving, he shimmied back down the stairs, making his way straight between Mickey and Martha, who slowly turned, watching him as he with an exaggerated flourish pulled open the doors.

“This is a good few years late, but Martha? This is for you!”

The doors opened, and she couldn’t help gasping. It seemed as if the sky itself was on fire, untold colours swirling in breathtaking combinations against the blackness of space - just like oil on water - and she was barely aware of the Doctor looping an arm around her shoulders, his other arm around Mickey.

“We are over the coast of Meta Sigmafolio, and it is the 30th of June, 2007. Back then you didn’t want to come, but I thought you should have it anyway.”

Watching the beauty unfolding in front of her, she had to blink back tears. Everything she’d believed had been broken into pieces, but maybe what she’d now been given (the honesty, the thoughtfulness, the strange acquiescence) would help her build something new. Something... closer to the truth. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, as a new and unexpected truth dawned on her: She no longer wished that he would love her.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part set post-'The Doctor, The Widow and the Wardrobe'.

No one ever uttered the phrase ‘Bridezilla’, but it had definitely hung over Tish’s wedding preparations. Martha had tried her best to scale back on the perfectionism her sister was indulging in, but had in the end conceded that if the groom didn’t mind (he was the calmest person she had ever met, as well as a saint, apparently), she should probably just let things progress.

And indeed they eventually reached the big day, Tish happy as a clam as all her preparations were ready to come into their own. Somehow even the weather had decided to behave, and sunshine fell through the stained glass windows of the church in picture postcard perfection, as the music swelled, and Martha felt like she was in some kind of bubble of happiness. 

Her big sister was getting married to a truly wonderful man (whose family was just as sweet and charming as he was himself), her own family was all getting along (both the trauma and the older issues fading), and she grasped Mickey’s arm with sudden vigour. He didn’t say a word, just caught her eyes, and she knew that he felt the same... Although she should probably pay attention and not get lost in thought. She didn’t want to miss a thing.

The vicar smiled as the music faded and did her welcoming speech before launching into the rite.

“Is there anyone here present-” she began, the words familiar from a hundred films and sitcoms, and Martha wondered how the characters in those situations always timed their actions to coincide with this very moment.

But then there was the sound of creaky, old doors suddenly bursting open, as a loud, inimitable voice rang out clear as day.

“Now I’m sure _this_ is the right church. There was glitch last time, I heard it quite clearly, I need to fix the time rotor _properly_...”

The voice tapered off as the entire congregation slowly turned to stare at the newcomers. Martha turned last, her heart heavy.

She had often, in the months gone by, wondered how she would view the Doctor from now on... She had lost her hero, but what would he be replaced with? As she took in the sight that greeted her, she could feel his new identity assert itself with irrevocable finality in her mind: There was no doubt about it - he was every inch an embarrassing uncle. An embarrassing uncle with _terrible_ timing.

Although at least he was dressed for the occasion, she had to give him that.

No tweed this time - he was flawlessly decked out in a tux and top hat and certainly looked the part of wedding guest, a stunning River Song on his arm. With him were a young couple - a beautiful, if rather fierce-looking, redheaded girl and a young man who looked as if he wished the ground would open up and swallow him. Martha liked him immediately.

“We’re _late_!” the red-head hissed, slapping the Doctor’s arm. “Why are you _always_ late?”

Realising that _she_ was the one who had to deal with the situation, Martha took a deep breath and walked down the aisle, smiling at Tish’s in-laws-to-be with a reassurance she didn’t feel, as she whispered ‘Old family friends - a little eccentric. We weren’t sure they’d come...’

(Because they hadn’t been invited... But then, how did you send a wedding invitation into time and space?)

The Doctor, however, beamed at her, and waved to the rest of the family.

“Hello Martha! We’ve come for the wedding - sorry about barging in, the TARDIS was having a few engine troubles... Tish, you look _amazing_!”

Martha tried smiling back.

“So... you’ve not come because of an alien invasion and no one here is actually some kind of intergalactic master criminal who wants to get at you or...”

”Nope - we’re here for the dancing!” he replied, before bringing out his sonic and sweeping the crowd, then studying it with a flourish.

“Just in case... And - you’re all very much human. Well more or less. Nothing to worry about, certainly.”

“OK,” she said, faint with relief. “Um, if you’d take a seat...”

The wedding itself proceeded without any further glitches, although afterwards the Doctor rather stunned most of the guests by doling out hugs and kisses to everyone, as he busily introduced himself and his companions. The young couple turned out to be Amy and Rory Pond, and Martha with a shock realised that they must be River’s parents... She didn’t let on, as she wasn’t sure how much they wanted to divulge to strangers, but she still marvelled. 

Her mother, of course, was utterly delighted when the Doctor introduced River.

“Oh but _Doctor_ , why did you never tell us that you were getting married? We would have loved to have been there!” she scolded, and River laughed.

“Well, it was rather a... rushed ceremony, truth be told - in the middle of a war zone.”

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully.

“With enemies descending on all sides. Her parents were the witnesses and that was pretty much it... Didn’t really have the time to invite anyone.”

“Not exactly what I dreamed of when I was little,” River said pointedly, and the Doctor shot her a look which made Martha shiver in the sunshine. (No, she did not want his love...)

“Are you sure?” he said, voice dusky and low and dangerous, causing River’s eyes to blaze with unspeakable things, but before Martha could even begin to attempt to untangle this web, Tish (only catching part of the conversation ) cut in.

“In the middle of a war zone? Oh my god - you see Martha, _this_ is why I planned everything so carefully...” 

She then turned to the Doctor with equal parts affection and exasperation.

“But what will I do about four more guests?”

River reached out, eyes still sparkling.

“Don’t worry, we have a time machine. We can even have the party first and then go back and retroactively sort out any issues that crop up. Like Bill and Ted...”

Tish gazed at River with a look that could possibly have made her new husband jealous if he’d noticed.

~~~

As the day wore on Martha began hoping that maybe Daleks _wouldn’t_ suddenly invade yelling about the Time War, or cybermen stomp through the doors, or any other aliens from a thousand different species that held a grudge. The Doctor had too many skeletons in his cupboard for comfort...

Instead there was lovely food and fabulous conversation (Amy and Rory had been seated next to Martha and Mickey, and they had entirely too much fun comparing stories), as well as music and dancing (and the Doctor’s dancing was... embarrassing uncle _squared_ ). All told, it was as perfect a wedding day as could be hoped for.

It wasn’t until things were beginning to wind down a little - Mickey was dancing with Tish and telling her goodness knew what, she kept giggling - that all of Martha’s misgivings came to fruition... And yet it wasn’t at all what she’d expected.

There was a collective gasp, the music quelled with a sideways squeak, and then a cold, harsh, alien voice spoke.

“Martha Jones!”

She turned, and saw an alien - blue and yellow and with eyes as black as the night, looking very much like the nest of terrifying flesh eating spawn they’d destroyed last month - holding a gun to Mickey’s head.

“You destroyed my children, Martha Jones. Now behold as I destroy that which _you_ love!”

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. All she could do was stare into Mickey’s terrified eyes, knowing that this was what loss was like. Nothing in her life, nothing in the entirety of the Master’s reign, had come close to this.

Then a shot rang out and for a blind split-second Martha’s world was in ruins. But then the alien fell down, as Mickey staggered, unharmed.

Looking around, shocked, Martha saw River, gun in one hand and open handbag in the other, slowly turning to look at her.

“Told you I can shoot faster than you can think,” she said smugly, and all Martha could do was whisper an entirely inadequate ‘Thank you’ before running to her husband, ignoring the outbursts and the questions and the panic which was retro-actively setting in. She just needed to hold her Mickey and know that he was alive.

It wasn’t until a few moments later, when she’d double-checked that he was OK, and faintly began to be aware of the noise around her (including her sister’s tearful anger and shock) that she heard a hesitating voice.

“Um... excuse me... But could I maybe have a little help?”

Turning she saw Rory with another alien. He was standing behind it, obviously pinning its hands behind its back and the cake knife (so recently used to cut the five tiered cake) held to its throat. As Martha stared at this incongruous image, momentarily unable to make it fit (Rory had come off as a wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly type, and besides he'd told them he was a nurse), Amy ran forwards, tugging on River’s handbag.

“River! Handcuffs!”

“Of course dear,” River said absentmindedly, before pulling some out and handing them over, her attention on the still-living alien, who was now beginning to struggle, causing Rory to press the knife closer.

“Listen mate, I really don’t like killing things. Doesn’t mean I won’t or haven’t. I was a soldier for _centuries_ and could kill you about twenty different ways even without the knife. So don't push your luck.”

Tish tugged at Martha’s arm, insistent, even more thrown than Martha herself.

“Martha - who are they? How do they...”

“Ponds,” the Doctor replied with immense pride and satisfaction, materialising behind them out of nowhere. 

“They’re Ponds. My marvellous, magnificent, impossible Ponds.”

As Amy swiftly and competently attached the handcuffs, River’s next words were completely out of the left field, and stopped any further conversation.

“Well hello again,” she finally said, stepping forwards as her eyes trailed over the alien.

“You killed my wife!” it said, furious, and she tilted her head, utterly unconcerned.

“And I'm pretty sure I remember telling you that if I ever saw you again, I would kill you. Can't say you weren't warned.”

“Wait - you know each other?” Mickey asked, and River smiled.

“After a fashion... It was during my first ever dig, back when I was studying. We were on Blini-Gaar and found the lost Silver Tablets of Xorxo...”

The Doctor suddenly spoke up, excitement in his voice.

“Ooooh the Silver Tablets of Xorxo! You know I was there when-”

“Yes dear, I’m well aware,” River cut him off. “Anyway, news spread fast, and before you could say Raxicoricofallapatorious, we had pirates landing, wanting to steal them.”

“So what did you do?” Tish asked, their surroundings momentarily forgotten.

“Well I killed them obviously,” River said, as if this was the only logical outcome, then frowned. “Professor Pond - the leader of the dig - was not very pleased mind you. Although that might have been because her best trowel was the nearest weapon to hand - it got more than a little damaged by all the stabbing. Anyway, I let junior here go, since he was young and pretty, and I thought he might yet have a chance to change his ways.”

“I did! I reformed. I married. And then they murdered our children!”

“You came to an inhabited planet to spawn! A Level 5 planet no less! You know as well as I the rules that forbid that. Didn’t feel like jumping through all the hoops, did you? Can’t blame you for that, but you’ve got to be able to cope with the consequences. The Judoon would have executed you on the spot... Shall we save them the trip?”

A light cough, and she lowered the gun.

“I know, I know. But I’m not letting him go again...” Her eyes narrowed, and then she abruptly smiled, clearly pleased.

“You know, I just had a marvellous idea. What say you I take you to Stormcage?”

The alien seemed to blanch, then began protesting wildly.

“What’s Stormcage?” Martha’s mother asked, and River turned her head.

“Highest security prison in the universe. He won’t ever bother you again. Here, let me stun him for a while-” She changed the settings on the gun. “I’ve yet to dance with my husband, and after all, that _is_ why we came. I’ll take this lowlife away later.”

So Martha and the Ponds moved the bodies - the dead one and the now unconscious one - as Mickey and the rest of the family tried to explain to the other guests just what had happened. 

As the music tentatively started back up - the Doctor and River leading the dancing (and he _could_ dance properly) and generally bringing everyone’s spirits back up - Martha retreated to a table near the back. She needed to be alone as she tried to come to terms with the fact that this was _her_ fault. If it hadn’t been for River (and the other Ponds) most of her family would have been dead... And it was all because of _her_. 

But then, what could she have done differently? There was no way she could have let the flesh-eating spawn go. 

After a while, the party back in full swing, the Doctor came and sat beside her, gently patting her hand. He didn't need to say anything, but she knew what he understood. Or maybe she finally understood him...

~~~

_Later._

There were goodbyes and hugs and admonitions to come visit more often. As River - prisoner in tow - kissed the Doctor goodbye, she suddenly laid a hand on his chest.

“Sweetie - be a darling and drop by Tigella and get some of that lovely juice? You know the one we got that time we stopped the Ruthanian Rebellion and caught the green pegasus?”

He scratched his head.

“Don’t we have plenty left?”

“Only one carton, and it’s gone off.”

“Surely-” he began, but she put a finger across his lips.

“Dearest I had a _conversation_ with it yesterday. It’s off.”

“Oh,” he said, slightly put out, then added, worriedly: “Is it OK in the fridge?”

“Oh it’s perfectly happy,” she replied, “and I put a note on it to stop any of the strays from trying it.”

Martha’s eyes widened. “Oh my god! You really _do_ call us strays!”

River turned to her, slightly nonplussed.

“Well it’s what the TARDIS calls you. It struck me as rather fitting...”

Then the Doctor gathered Amy and Rory up with a ‘Come along Ponds’, and River and her prisoner vanished in a flash of light.

Martha’s mother smiled as they watched the TARDIS dematerialise.

“Isn’t it lovely? I used to be rather worried how he coped out there on his own. And then he’s all married and happy and with lovely new Companions... Oh I really couldn’t wish for more.”

For a moment Martha could feel anger shimmering. ‘It’s not what you think', she wanted to say. 'River isn’t just his wife, she’s his killer, and she’s not just taking that alien to Stormcage, she’s going back herself. She’s Amy and Rory’s daughter, and she was _stolen_ and abused and it’s all the Doctor’s fault. The price they’ve had to pay for their love of the Doctor makes mine fade into insignificance...’

Yet who was she to throw stones? Who was she to tear down hope and imagined bliss with harsh truths? Only serendipity had saved her own family today. 

So she looked on the happiness and satisfaction on her mother’s face - and lied.

**The End**


End file.
